


Blown Here By The Winds Of Chance

by torakowalski



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, Genderqueer Character, Implied/Referenced Depression, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Other, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5074252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is in charge of ensuring Enjolras doesn't mess up his budding relationship with Grantaire, which is a challenge he treats with all the gravity it deserves. </p><p>What he doesn't expect is to find a potential romance of his own with Grantaire's confusingly enchanting roommate, Jehan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blown Here By The Winds Of Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riseuplikeangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseuplikeangels/gifts).



> Dear riseuplikeangels, I really hope you enjoy this! Thank you so much for giving me a chance to write this pairing, which I love.
> 
> With huge thanks to M for reading this every step of the way, to D for encouragement, and L for the super fast and thorough beta.

“Did you know that if you squint at Enjolras, he looks as though he’s wearing a halo?” Jehan whispers, under cover of Enjolras talking very passionately about something (Courfeyrac will ask Combeferre later, and then he’ll help organise a march, or a viral campaign, or put up some posters, honestly).

It’s probably the first thing Jehan has ever said to Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac is charmed. “No?” he says, leaning toward Jehan. “Show me?”

Jehan points and Courfeyrac follows the line of their arm. They smell like talcum powder and cigarette smoke in pretty much equal measures.

Courfeyrac squints at the top of Enjolras’s head, where a sconce on the wall behind him is lighting his hair up into a sort of golden haze. “I think he looks more as though he’s on fire,” he decides.

“Oooh or that,” Jehan says, sounding pleased. “That would be cool.”

“If… Enjolras was on fire?” Courfeyrac asks, just to check.

Jehan blinks, shakes their head, and then grins at Courfeyrac. “Only a _little_ on fire, not like all the way.”

“Oh well that’s okay,” Courfeyrac says and leans into their shoulder. “So, what does Marius look like?”

Jehan laughs. They have a surprisingly deep laugh for someone that tiny and wearing that much sparkly mascara. “That’s easy. Marius looks like a baby Diplodocus, you know like in _A Land Before Time_?”

“Dude,” Courfeyrac says, appalled, “that’s the saddest film in the world.”

“I know!” Jehan says. They seem delighted about it.

***

The next time Courfeyrac sees Jehan, they’re wearing a black leather mini skirt over tights that are either maroon or dark purple, Courfeyrac can’t tell in the dark. They’re leaning against the open front door of some kind of club, smoking a cigarette.

“Hi,” Courfeyrac says, waving from the street.

Jehan lights up, waving back. “Watch out for werewolves!” they call.

The friends Courfeyrac is out with are hurrying to get inside out of the cold, but Courfeyrac falls back, hopping over the low wall that separates the pavement from the club so he can walk over to Jehan.

“Werewolves?” he asks, leaning on the wall next to them.

Jehan waves their cigarette up toward the sky. It makes wispy clouds through the cold night air. “Last night was a full moon,” they say, “some of them will be really sleep deprived and cranky, tonight.”

Courfeyrac nods. He wonders what it’s like inside Jehan’s brain; it must be pretty exciting. “Are there a lot of werewolves around here?” he asks.

Jehan blows a perfect smoke ring and Courfeyrac automatically puts his finger through it, earning himself a tiny smile of approval. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Jehan asks. “Haven’t you _seen_ the new crop of first years?”

“That’s mean,” Courfeyrac says. “I like it.” 

He leans his head back against the wall, waiting while Jehan finishes their cigarette. While he’s waiting, he starts to notice that the people going in through the door beside them aren’t dressed in clubbing gear. Then he notices that the building is far too bright and quiet to be a club.

“What is this place?” he asks. He’s pretty sure the last time he was here was for a student fashion show that made Marius blush many, many shades of puce. Buildings change purpose every other week in a university town.

“Art gallery,” Jehan says. “Grantaire’s having a show,” they add, sounding incredibly proud.

“Oh, cool.” Courfeyrac cranes his head around the doorway, just in case he can catch a glimpse of some art that looks like it’s by Grantaire. “Enjolras never said.”

Jehan doesn’t answer for a minute, then, “Mmm,” they say, with a funny look on their face.

“What?” Courfeyrac asks. Then, when Jehan looks torn, “No, please tell me. I’m in charge of making sure Enjolras doesn’t fuck this up.”

He is. He and Combeferre drew lots, when Enjolras and Grantaire started dating.

“Oh no it’s not that.” Jehan looks up at Courfeyrac, biting their lower lip a little, uncertainly. “I’m pretty sure Grantaire didn’t tell Enjolras about it. He does things like that; he wouldn’t want to risk Enjolras not coming, or Enjolras coming and not liking his art.”

“Why on earth?” Courfeyrac asks. Grantaire is always drawing; it’s not like he’s shy about it.

Jehan shrugs. “R’s special,” they say. They don’t say it like someone might mean _odd_ ; they sound like they actually mean _special_. 

“But Enjolras should get to be here,” Courfeyrac says, feeling suddenly protective. “It’s a boyfriend-y thing to do.” Courfeyrac has never been anyone’s boyfriend for longer than a week at a time, but he’s definitely been a lot of girls' plus one at art shows, dance shows, music recitals, etcetera.

“I agree, but please don’t tell him?” Jehan asks. They curl their hand into Courfeyrac’s belt loop, tugging a little. “Please? You and I can conspire to get him to the next one, instead.”

Courfeyrac isn’t delighted about this plan, but Jehan has very big eyes and isn’t afraid to use them. “I do like a good conspiracy,” he allows.

Jehan beams as though they’ve won something.

***

When Courfeyrac gets home that night, he finds Enjolras lying on the living room floor, surrounded by textbooks.

“Are you working at - ” Courfeyrac checks his watch, mostly for effect, “ - one o’clock in the morning?”

“I’m trying to get a headstart on that essay for Professor Javert,” Enjolras says. There’s pink highlighter ink on his cheek, and Courfeyrac is half-tempted to snap a picture of him to send to Grantaire.

The only reason he doesn’t is that he’s already feeling guilty for having spent some time with Grantaire tonight and that he’s lying to Enjolras by omission about it. 

“Ugh, Criminal Law,” Courfeyrac says, wrinkling his nose. “That’s not due in until Monday.”

Enjolras ignores him and goes back to sucking on the end of his highlighter. Enjolras always works ridiculously hard, while Courfeyrac prefers to swoop in at the last minute and bash out an essay an hour before it’s due.

So far, he’s never scored less than Enjolras by working that way, and he knows he’s very lucky that Enjolras doesn’t begrudge it.

“Did you have a good night?” Enjolras asks, once he’s highlighted another couple of passages. 

Courfeyrac crosses the hall to get to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. “Yes, it was fun,” he calls back. “There was some sports team doing initiation in the bar. So many incredibly drunk, naked first years.” He sticks his head in the fridge, so it’s muffled when he says, “Oh, and I bumped into Jehan.”

“Oh, yes?” Enjolras asks, from much closer than Courfeyrac was expecting. He jumps and nearly hits his head on the fridge door, before turning around to glare at Enjolras.

“Don’t sneak up on a person who’s been doing shots with Cosette,” he says. “It’s not nice.”

Enjolras leans against the doorway, not looking at all repentant. Actually, he doesn’t even look tired enough for someone who’s up working at one a.m. When they were eleven, Courfeyrac checked him to make sure he wasn’t a robot, but it might be time to repeat the process.

“It sounds like everyone was out tonight,” Enjolras says. He sounds wistful, which isn’t like him, at all. He usually hates going out until he’s actually there.

“Well, not everyone,” Courfeyrac prevaricates. He can’t spend the rest of his life in the fridge, so he grabs a can of coke and closes the door. 

“No,” Enjolras agrees, accepting the coke, when Courfeyrac offers it, drinking some and passing it back. “Grantaire had an art thing.”

“Art thing?” Courfeyrac asks. He hates this. He hates lying. Damn Jehan and their big, winning eyes.

Enjolras shakes his head. “He said I wouldn’t understand,” he says, sounding halfway between annoyed and amused. “Apparently it was very boring.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac says, then fakes a giant yawn. “Well, I’m to bed. Don’t stay up too late, little worker bee.”

“Bees are fascinating, actually,” Enjolras says, because of course he does. “Do you think I should text him?”

“The bee?” Courfeyrac asks. Give him a break, he’s a little drunk.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says. He blushes instantly, which is both hilarious and fascinating. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t ask.”

The last time Courfeyrac saw Grantaire, he was surrounded by very stuffy looking people, clutching a champagne glass full of orange juice and looking incredibly uncomfortable while they praised his artwork.

“Definitely,” Courfeyrac tells him. “I’m sure he’d like that.”

***

As soon as he’s in his bedroom, he pulls out his phone and texts Jehan.

_I don’t like lying :(_

_I’m sorry :( :( :( :( :( :(_ Jehan texts back, followed by, _But thank you <333333_

Courfeyrac smiles to himself. _Hmm_ , he texts back, because he might not be able to maintain a grudge in reality, but he can pretend over text.

 _I’m sending you my most winningest smile_ , Jehan tells him, then sends a picture of themself pouting at the camera.

Courfeyrac laughs out loud. He props his phone up against the washbasin in the corner of his room, so he can type out a reply one-handed, while he brushes his teeth.

_Are you still with R?_

_Yepppp_ , Jehan sends back. _A lady in fishnets has cornered him. I think she wants to make him her sex slave. I also think I want fishnets._

 _My sister has a red pair_ , Courfeyrac tells them, not sure what sort of response they’re looking for.

It only takes a second for Jehan to reply: _AMAAAAAZING._

Courfeyrac kicks off his jeans and his socks then crawls into bed. He’s tired, but he feels very awake, all of a sudden and he’s not quite ready to be done talking to Jehan.

_E missed R tonight, it’s adorable._

_Awwww, yay!_ Jehan says. _We need a plan so they stop being useless. Ideas?_

Courfeyrac should definitely sleep. Instead he sends back, _Of course :D_

It’s cold in his bedroom, so he pulls the duvet up over his head and settles down to plot with Jehan until he falls asleep. 

Sleep doesn’t actually come for a long time; every time he starts to doze off, Jehan sends him something else, and he pulls himself back out of sleep to reply.

When he wakes up in the morning, it’s to a final message from Jehan: _Your typing sounds sleepy. Good night x_

Courfeyrac’s stomach clenches weirdly, a hot rush of not-quite-pain. Doing shots with Cosette was definitely a bad idea, he decides, and rolls out of bed to find Combeferre and beg him for a curative breakfast.

***

Every now and then, Courfeyrac has to fight his natural inclinations and go to the library.

It’s a dark time in any young man’s life, but it must be borne.

He goes to the Law School library, because it’s slightly less terrifying and filled with sobbing first years than the main one, and also because there’s a lovely cafe next door that will give him endless coffee refills.

(Courfeyrac has ensured Enjolras won’t tell Combeferre about that on pain of dire retribution, because Combeferre has very definite ideas about how much coffee Courfeyrac is allowed to have.)

He’s twenty pages into the dullest, driest textbook anyone has ever written, when one polystyrene cup appears at the edge of his table, followed by a second.

He looks up past red-painted fingernails and forearms decorated with pastel-coloured flowers to find Jehan grinning at him.

“Hi,” Jehan says. “I brought you coffee and I brought you tea, because we haven’t had the important caffeine conversation part of our friendship yet.”

“What if I didn’t drink any kind of caffeine?” Courfeyrac asks curiously. He starts to reach for the coffee, then remembers the five he’s already had and that Combeferre will not be sympathetic if he gives himself a stomach ulcer, and goes for the tea, instead.

“Then we would no longer have a friendship,” Jehan says, either impressively deadpan or totally serious.

They pick up the coffee that Courfeyrac rejected and sit down on the table in front of Courfeyrac’s, swinging their legs. “Are you doing something terribly important?”

“Nah, just an essay,” Courfeyrac says. “Our lecturer, Professor Javert, is like, weirdly into Criminal Law. I think the 2006 Fraud Act gets him hot.”

Jehan blinks slowly. Their eyelashes are gold today, with little red feathers glued to the corner of each eye. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds very sexy,” they say.

Courfeyrac laughs. From over by the librarian’s desk, there’s an ominous creak, as though she’s about to come over here and throw them both out.

He raises a finger to his lips, making an exaggerated _Shhhh_ , sound.

Jehan looks immediately as thrilled as Courfeyrac had guessed they would, and hops down from the table to come and kneel at Courfeyrac’s side. “Are we spies?” they whisper.

“We are,” Courfeyrac agrees. “Secret, lawyer spies.”

“Oooh,” Jehan says, hiding a smile behind their cup. “Wait, no, you’re a secret, lawyer spy. I’m a secret, poet spy.”

“Do they have those?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Well, _duh_ ,” Jehan says. “Haven’t you ever heard of Jang Jin-sung?”

Courfeyrac actually hasn’t, but he doesn’t think that’s relevant to this conversation. “Right, how stupid of me. What are you doing here, anyway?” He maybe should have thought to ask that earlier, but it’s literally only just occurred to him that Jehan doesn’t belong in the Law School.

“Oh, oh.” Jehan flutters their fingertips against Courfeyrac’s chair, very close to Courfeyrac’s thigh. “I went to the cafe next door, because it has the best chocolate muffins in the world, but they’ve stopped selling them. They’re only selling _flax seed_ muffins now.”

“That’s terrible,” Courfeyrac says. “You should sue.”

“I should,” Jehan says, nodding. Then their eyes light up. “I _should_. You’ll represent me, right?”

Courfeyrac nods, lowering his voice, because they are definitely going to get kicked out soon. “Yep, sure, with my year and a half of law school. We’ll win for sure.” 

“We will,” Jehan agrees. “I could pay you in buttons?”

“Seems fair,” Courfeyrac says. He meets Jehan’s eyes and manages to hold his smile back for a few seconds. Then a laugh bubbles out of him, and he claps his hand over his mouth.

Jehan giggles, pressing their face into Courfeyrac’s leg. 

Courfeyrac smiles down helplessly at the back of their head. Their bright red hair is long and silky, falling down straight as curtain rods to hide their face. Courfeyrac’s fingers twitch. He likes playing with people’s hair, sometimes Enjolras will let him French plait his curls, but he probably shouldn’t do it to new friends in libraries. 

“Come on,” he says. “We can go into town; I’ll buy you a muffin.”

“You’re my favourite,” Jehan tells him earnestly, and picks up Courfeyrac’s books, before he can reach for them.

“You don’t need to carry them, they’re heavy,” he protests, trying to take them back.

Jehan dances out of the way. “Nope, I’m carrying them,” they say. They hold out their elbow for Courfeyrac to take. “Escort me to muffins, Monsieur Courfeyrac.”

At her desk across the room, the librarian stands up.

Courfeyrac waves to her cheerfully, then takes Jehan’s arm. “I’m never going to be able to come back here,” he says as they hurry out.

“Eh,” Jehan says. “Who needs a degree anyway, when you’re a secret, lawyer spy?”

***

“‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac says, putting his hands up to catch hold of the top of Combeferre’s door frame. “Let’s go to the cinema.”

“Okay,” Combeferre says, looking up from his laptop and smiling the unfocused smile he gives while his brain catches up with being in the real world not one of his essays. “Saturday?”

“Noooo.” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “I was thinking more… right now?”

Combeferre frowns. “Right now? It’s - ” He glances up at the clock on his wall. The clock on Courfeyrac’s wall is an hour fast, because he refuses to acknowledge that daylight saving time happened, but Combeferre’s is perfectly to time. “ - nine in the evening.”

“And we are grown-ups,” Courfeyrac says, smiling winningly. “We’re allowed out on a school night.”

“You have a nine a.m. lecture, and you’ll hate yourself,” Combeferre says, still smiling at him. He looks as though he’s about to turn back to his computer, so Courfeyrac brings out the big guns.

“We could go to that cinema you like that doesn’t dub the films,” he says. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll pretend I speak English and everything.”

Courfeyrac takes off his computer glasses. For a second, Courfeyrac thinks he’s won. After ten years of being friends, he really should have learnt better than that.

“What’s going on?” Combeferre asks. He hasn’t quite reached suspicious yet, tone still straddling the edge of amused.

Courfeyrac decides to exploit that. He’s very good at being amusing. “Awesome things are going on, ‘Ferre, my darling ‘Ferre,” he says. He puts his hands on Combeferre’s knees and uses them to swivel his chair, dancing him all the way around in a circle. “We’re going on a friend date.”

Combeferre laughs and grabs his arm, stopping them before they can go around again. “Don’t do that; you know what I’m like on roller coasters.”

Courfeyrac does know that, intimately. Enjolras is surprisingly into roller coasters, so Courfeyrac has had to go on a million of them with him, while Combeferre waits at the end, eating candyfloss and looking anywhere but at the tilts and whirls of the track. 

“Okay, so cinema?” Courfeyrac asks, not one to be distracted from a mission. “It’ll be great. I’ll buy you popcorn.”

“Courf.” Combeferre puts his hands on top of Courfeyrac’s, where they’re still resting on the arms of his chair, and Courfeyrac sits down at his feet like his strings have been cut. Sometimes having to be himself all the time is a little exhausting. “You know, if you just tell me what’s going on, I’m very likely to say yes.”

Well, that is also an option. Not nearly as much fun, though. “Grantaire’s coming around, so we need to make ourselves scarce,” he admits.

Through careful observation, Jehan and Courfeyrac have deduced that Enjolras and Grantaire’s dates are most successful when they’re somewhere familiar (Enjolras), don’t have to worry about spending money (Grantaire), and denied an audience for their fights (both of them).

Jehan convinced Grantaire to suggest staying in tonight, and all Courfeyrac had to do was get Combeferre to give them the house to themselves for the evening. He possibly completely forgot until ten minutes ago.

Combeferre frowns for a second, then shrugs. “You couldn’t have just said that?” he asks, but he’s already saving his document and powering down his computer. “So, what are we going to see?”

Courfeyrac hugs Combeferre’s knee, because it’s the nearest part of him he can reach. “Thank you!” he says. That was nearly a disaster.

“So what’s so special about tonight?” Combeferre asks, once they’ve left the house and are walking down the road toward the metro. 

For some reason that he really doesn’t understand, but decides to go with anyway, Courfeyrac doesn’t want to explain his and Jehan’s secret machinations. He’s not embarrassed, it just feels private.

Instead, he bounces a little and links his arm through Combeferre’s. “I think tonight might be the night they seal the deal.”

Combeferre glances at him sideways. “Which deal? They’re definitely already having sex. Trust me, I share a wall with Enjolras.”

“I already told you I was sorry about that,” Courfeyrac says. He is. No one anticipated Enjolras developing a libido when they picked their rooms. They all thought Courfeyrac would be the only one having sex, which is why his room’s downstairs. “And no, no, not that deal, the other deal! Maybe they’ll _use the L-word_ tonight.”

“Lesbian?” Combeferre asks dryly.

Courfeyrac narrows his eyes. “You’re not funny. No, come on, maybe they’ll say they love each other. No, don’t look like that; they might.”

“Do you really think so?” Combeferre sounds serious now.

“Do you think they don’t?” Courfeyrac asks. He’s suddenly worried. He’s awesome at reading Enjolras, and Jehan knows Grantaire inside and out, but Combeferre is almost psychic about this stuff; if he’s noticed something off, it’s worth paying attention to.

Combeferre shakes his head. “Of course they do,” he says, almost laughing, as though the idea of Enjolras and Grantaire not being in love is ludicrous. “I don’t think they’ll say it, though.”

Courfeyrac breathes out a sigh of relief. “What do you know?” he asks, snuggling up closer to him, while they wait to cross the road. Combeferre doesn’t resist. “I’m in charge of this one. You were in charge of that time Enjolras and Feuilly went out.”

“They hardly went out,” Combeferre says. “They had a drink and realised they weren’t attracted to each other.”

Courfeyrac makes a noise of triumph. “Exactly! Because _I_ wasn’t in charge. If I’d been in charge, they’d be married by now.”

The lights change, so Combeferre starts to tug them across the road. “And where would Grantaire be, in that case?”

Courfeyrac comes to a stop in the middle of the road. The countdown says they have eight more seconds to cross, plenty of time for dramatics. “Oh, that’s a good point. Okay, maybe you are quite good at this.”

Combeferre nods his head. “Thank you. Now, can we try not to die today, please.”

Courfeyrac lets himself be led up onto the pavement, then spontaneously turns around and gives Combeferre a hug. He really loves his friends; they’re just the best.

***

“Grantaire’s been humming a lot,” Jehan reports, when they meet for brunch on Saturday. “And he’s drawn at least three things he won’t let me see, which he only does when he’s happy.”

“Why aren’t you allowed to see his drawings when he’s happy?” Courfeyrac asks, flipping his menu over, as though he’s going to find something on it that’s better than crepes.

(Nothing is better than crepes.)

Jehan waves a hand, as though this is old news, an issue from a long time ago. “Because when he’s sad, he shows _everyone_ his drawings, in the hope someone will tell him they’re shit and validate his misery.”

“That’s…” Courfeyrac doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Artists,” Jehan says, then smiles, kicking Courfeyrac a little under the table. “I think our plotting is going really well. Aren’t you proud of us? I’m super proud of us.”

“Super proud,” Courfeyrac agrees, smiling back helplessly. Jehan has butterflies in their hair, it’s impossible not to smile at them. Although, actually - “The butterflies in your hair have tiny machine guns on their backs.”

One of Jehan’s hands flies up to pat a clip, as though double-checking. “Yep,” they agree. 

“Okay.” Courfeyrac nods. “Just thought you might not have noticed.”

Jehan frowns at him, petting one butterfly, then another. “They’re my butterfly bodyguards,” they say. “If anyone’s mean to me, they’ll fly up and attack them. It’ll be awesome.”

Long years of living with Enjolras makes Courfeyrac want to grab Jehan’s hand and demand to know how often people are mean to them. But that might ruin Jehan’s mood and he can’t bring himself to do it.

“That’s so useful,” he says, instead. “I wish I had machine gun-trained butterfly bodyguards.”

“You’ll just have to try harder,” Jehan tells him. “Start with pistols though and work your way up. You can’t expect your butterflies to be as awesome as mine straight away.”

Courfeyrac nods seriously. “I totally get that,” he agrees. He sits up straight, flashing a smile at the waitress, when she approaches the table. He hadn’t realised how far he’d been leaning over it.

“Hello,” she says. “What can I get you two?”

“Crepes, please,” they both say at the same time. They catch each other’s eyes and laugh. Courfeyrac can feel himself blush, which is unusual for him.

Jehan gives him an appraising look. “He’d like the chocolate crepes with butterscotch syrup, please.”

Courfeyrac blinks. That’s not a bad guess, at all. “Okay,” he says, staring at Jehan’s forehead, trying to read their mind, the way Jehan seems to be able to read his. “And my friend here will have peach compote on their crepes, please.”

“Oooh, good choice,” Jehan says, once the waitress has left, shooting them a soft, inexplicable smile, as she goes. “Oh, oh also, I made you a thing, hang on.”

“Hanging,” Courfeyrac promises, watching in bemusement as Jehan disappears half-inside their skull-and-crossbones decorated canvas bag. He tries to guess what Jehan could possibly have made him, but this is Jehan. There’s no way he’s going to be able to guess.

“Aha!” Jehan crows and drops their bag onto the floor. It makes an ominous crunching sound, but Jehan doesn’t seem worried. They lay something small on the table and smile questioningly up at Courfeyrac.

It’s lime green and neon purple, crocheted, and it takes a second glance for Courfeyrac to realise that it’s a bracelet. “Oh, hey,” he says, reaching for it.

Jehan picks it up before he can, turning it over in their hands. “It may look like a friendship bracelet,” they say, “but in _fact_ it’s a Secret Spy Bros bracelet, so that there will never be any doubt that we are, in fact, Secret Spy Bros.”

“It is very important that we don’t doubt that.” Courfeyrac nods, holding his wrist out. “Do you have one, too?”

Jehan wraps the bracelet around Courfeyrac’s wrist and starts lacing together the strings at either end. “I was waiting to see if you were going to wear yours, first,” they say. Jehan isn’t often shy with him, not like they can be with other people, but they look it now. “You might not have liked it.”

“Dude,” Courfeyrac says, turning his wrist over. The bracelet is hideous, just the worst possible combination of colours, but for some reason, that really doesn’t matter. “Who wouldn’t like it?”

Jehan bites their bottom lip. “Right?” they say. They hold out their fist. “Team Secret Spies.”

“Team Secret Spies,” Courfeyrac agrees, knocking their knuckles together.

***

There are days when they all meet up in the bar and days when they meet in the coffee shop. Courfeyrac hasn’t worked out the pattern, yet, but he’s pretty sure there is one.

Today is a coffee shop day, and they’ve taken up half of the back, Enjolras’s friends and Grantaire’s friends all mixed together now, in a really pleasing way.

“Did you know that tea basically never goes bad?” Joly asks, dunking his tea bag into his cup in counts of three. “These old, British explorers in China found some that was hundreds of years old, and being weird and Imperial, they decided to drink it.”

“Guessing they didn’t die?” Grantaire says, leaning back in his chair.

Joly waves the string of his tea bag at him. “They did not,” he agrees, happily. “The chances of tea killing you is so, so low. I love tea.”

“You’ve said tea so many times, it’s no longer words,” Jehan tells him. They stand up, give Joly a quick hug around the back of the neck, then look toward the counter. “Anyone want anything?”

No one does, so Jehan walks over and starts placing their order, bouncing a little on their toes, and talking happily to the girl behind the counter. They’re wearing very short shorts today over brightly patterned leggings, and the way they’re leaning makes them ride up even further. Courfeyrac knows it’s none of his business, but he can’t help watching them protectively, anyway.

“Courf?” Combeferre says, sounding a little confused.

Courfeyrac jumps and turns to flash a smile at him. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says. “Was I ignoring you?”

Combeferre points across the table to Enjolras. “Enjolras is trying to tell that story about your lecturer and the pigeon, but he can’t do the voices.”

Courfeyrac sighs loudly. “I’ll do the pigeon,” he says, “you always do it wrong.”

“How can you do a pigeon wrong?” Grantaire asks loyally, but he’s grinning, eyes dancing. He’s also more or less sitting in Enjolras’s lap, but Courfeyrac has been _so good_ about not teasing either of them.

It’s a funny story and it doesn’t take much to have everyone laughing. Courfeyrac grins and looks around, looking for Jehan, fully prepared to repeat it, if they’re on their way back. 

Instead, he finds Jehan backed up against the counter, a big man with a shaved head towering over them. It’s easy to tell that whatever he’s saying is ugly, just from the way Jehan’s chin is up, their hands curled into tight fists at their sides.

Courfeyrac is half out of his seat, before a hand lands on his arm, stilling him. “They won’t thank you,” Grantaire says. “They’ll want to handle it themself.”

Courfeyrac hesitates. 

He understands that, he does. But he also remembers being very young, probably no more than five, and watching an old white man storm up to his mother in a restaurant to berate her for flaunting her Indian husband and her mixed-race children in public. He’d called her a whore. The word he’d used to describe Courfeyrac and his sister hadn’t been ‘mixed-race.’

The words strangers throw around can hurt a lot.

He stands up, flashing Grantaire a tight smile as he goes, and makes his way over to Jehan. The girl behind the counter looks about three seconds from throwing hot coffee in the bald guy’s face.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac says brightly, sliding right into Jehan’s space and curling an arm around their waist.

Jehan jumps and tenses and throws him a sharp look. Courfeyrac pretends not to see any of that, just pulls Jehan tighter against his side. He feels better as soon as Jehan is safe in his arms, the end of one of Jehan’s plaits brushing his arm.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac says again, “making friends?”

He watches the man size him up, his lips curling. Courfeyrac is slim, but he’s tall, and he makes use of that now, straightening up and pulling his shoulders back. He makes sure his smile stays pleasant and friendly.

“Whatever,” the man says at last. He turns away and stalks off, managing to knock into both of them as he goes, in a really impressive display of testosterone. 

“Arsehole,” the barista mutters behind them. Courfeyrac throws her a smile, but Jehan doesn’t react. They’re shaking slightly, against Courfeyrac’s side.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac says. “Okay?”

All of a sudden, Jehan pulls away from him, spinning around and planting their hands on their hips. “You didn’t need to help me,” they say. They don’t sound angry, but they do sound sharp, tight.

“I know that,” Courfeyrac says. “I just wanted to.”

Jehan frowns. Their elbows dip slightly as though they can’t quite maintain the full force of their feelings. “I can look after myself,” they say, eventually.

Courfeyrac risks a smile. He doesn’t want to get into a fight; he much prefers peace and harmony. “I don’t doubt that for a second,” he promises. “I just like interfering.”

Jehan ducks their head. “Fuck,” they says softly. They tug on the end of one of their own plaits, hard, like they’re frustrated. 

Courfeyrac holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers invitingly. 

After a second, Jehan sighs and slides over to him. They don’t let Courfeyrac hug them, like he finds he wants to, but they do lean against Courfeyrac’s side for a second.

“Why do straight men suck?” Jehan asks, pressing their forehead to the top of Courfeyrac’s arm. “I mean, other straight men, obviously. You’re nice.”

Something swoops in Courfeyrac’s chest, like he’s missed a step in a dream. He isn’t sure what he’s reacting too, just that something felt briefly wrong.

He casts around for something to say. “Got your coffee?” he eventually settles on. He can’t think of anything reassuring, but at least he can take Jehan back to their friends, who’ll probably be allowed to hug them.

“Yeah,” Jehan says, nodding at it. “I don’t really want it, though.” They look as though their tightly held control is about to shatter, the corners of their mouth shaking slightly.

“Hot chocolate,” Courfeyrac prescripes. “Hot chocolate and honeycomb syrup, I think. That’ll help.”

Jehan smiles at him unevenly. “That sounds disgusting,” they say. “Yes, please.”

“Coming right up,” the barista says. “I’ll put some cream on top for free.”

“Thanks,” Jehan says. Their smile finally stops wobbling.

***

Things are just slightly awkward between Courfeyrac and Jehan, after that. Courfeyrac hates it, hates the way Jehan seems almost embarrassed around him now.

It’s ridiculous, considering they’ve only known each other a few weeks, but Courfeyrac misses them dreadfully.

Because Courfeyrac isn’t one to hide his feelings, he decides that admitting that might be the way back into Jehan’s good books.

 _I miss you :(_ he texts Jehan, early in the evening, when classes are over and he and Enjolras are waiting for their metro home.

 _Did I go somewhere???_ Jehan sends back.

Courfeyrac hesitates, not sure what to say. Maybe the awkwardness has been all in his head. He’s not sure why he feels everything that happens with Jehan so keenly, why he’s so sensitive to every little shift between them.

Before he can think of a casual response, Jehan sends, _Miss you too :((( Want to go dancing?_

Courfeyrac always wants to go dancing, but he’s managed to make friends with a lot of people who aren’t really into that scene. 

_Love to!_ he texts, and gets a whole string of smiley faces as an answer.

***

It turns out that when Jehan goes dancing, they go all out. Courfeyrac doesn’t find that surprising at all.

“Come on,” they yell, hand linked with Courfeyrac’s, dragging him from the cloakroom straight to the dance floor. “Come on, I love this song.”

Courfeyrac lets himself be led through the throng of people, following the trail of glitter that Jehan has poured over their hair and half their body. With their red hair and the way the strobe lights make their glitter shine, they look like a phoenix.

They’re also getting a lot of lingering looks, mostly from guys but also from a few girls. It makes Courfeyrac realise that he doesn’t know who Jehan is interested in, or even if they’re looking to hook up at all tonight.

Courfeyrac is an excellent wingman (he got Enjolras and Grantaire together, even though Enjolras denies it) but he doesn’t really feel like offering his services tonight. Instead, he just laughs, when Jehan dances up to him, curling an arm comfortably around Jehan’s waist and dancing behind them.

Jehan has a good rhythm and they give off an infectious sort of joy; when they dance, it’s impossible not to get caught up.

They dance half the night away, as one song melts into another, until Courfeyrac is dripping sweat and Jehan is a bright, glowing shade of red.

“Oh my god, water,” Jehan says at last, draping themself over Courfeyrac. Their soaked t-shirt sticks to Courfeyrac’s, making it feel as though they’re skin to skin.

“Water,” Courfeyrac agrees. They’re getting more interested looks, now that they’ve stopped dancing. He puts his hand on the small of Jehan’s back and steers them over to the bar, bending low so he can catch what Jehan’s saying to him as they go.

“Did you see that man by the DJ booth?” Jehan asks. “The one in the top hat.” They join the queue at the bar, but Courfeyrac doesn’t drop his hand from Jehan’s back. Jehan is small enough that they’re likely to get jostled; they might not like being defended, but they don’t seem to mind being shielded.

“I saw the top hat,” Courfeyrac says. He hadn’t paid much attention to the man underneath it, except for a vague impression of long, dark hair and sharp features.

Jehan tips their head back, so they can look up at Courfeyrac and make a face. “We used to date.”

“You dated a man, who wears a top hat to a nightclub?” Courfeyrac asks, appalled.

Jehan laughs. They cover their face in mock-shame. “It was a very dark time in my life,” they say. They lean in close and whisper, “We broke up because he went to prison.”

Courfeyrac pulls back a little so he can look them in the eye. “Actually?” he asks, well used to the way Jehan talks in metaphors more than reality.

“Oh no, actually prison,” Jehan says, nodding. “He’s an international cat burglar.” They hold up their hand, before Courfeyrac can say anything. “That part’s not true, but it _could_ be. He just needs more practice at regular burglaring, first.”

They’ve reached the bar, which Courfeyrac is unexpectedly relieved about. He’s not sure how he feels about Jehan sounding _proud_ of their jailbird ex. “Water, please,” he orders, then looks at Jehan. “Alcohol?”

Jehan opens and closes their mouth, looking torn. “I can’t go home drunk,” they say. Then they stare longingly, thoughtfully at the rows of spirits on the wall. “But maybe a _little_ drink?”

Courfeyrac grins at them. “Shots,” he says. “As long as we have more water than shots, we’ll be fine.” He doesn’t ask why Jehan can’t go home drunk and Jehan doesn’t offer an explanation.

“You’re so smart,” Jehan says, laughing. They smile up at the barman. He’d been watching them impatiently, but in the face of Jehan’s smile, he relaxes and leans in closer. “Apple sourz, please.”

“We have toffee apple flavour,” the barman offers, obviously expecting that Jehan is going to be delighted by that.

Jehan, predictably, _is_ delighted by that.

***

“Okay, here’s a thing I don’t get about you, Courfeyrac Courfeyrac,” Jehan says, four shots each later. They’re taking a break from dancing to sprawl across the sofas in the corner, Courfeyrac’s feet in Jehan’s lap.

“That’s not actually my name, Jean Prouvaire,” Courfeyrac points out.

Jehan shrugs one shoulder, unconcerned. “My question is this: everyone tells me what a ladies’ man you are, but I never actually see you with any ladies, you’re always with your friends. Are they invisible ladies?”

Courfeyrac laughs and wiggles his toes in Jehan’s lap, until Jehan goes back to rubbing his arches. “They are, in fact, invisible ladies. There are three with us tonight, in fact.”

Jehan nods. “You said ‘in fact’ twice,” they say.

Courfeyrac grins at them. “I’m a little tipsy.”

“Ugh, I _know_ ,” Jehan groans. “I’m going to need all the chips on the way home to soak this up.”

“Mm, chips,” Courfeyrac agrees. He tips his head back on the arm of the sofa and thinks through Jehan’s question. He hasn’t gone on any dates in a while, he realises. He hasn’t really missed it.

“Courf?” Jehan asks, poking the sole of his foot. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Courfeyrac says quickly. He levers himself up and puts his head on Jehan’s shoulder. “I just hadn’t noticed I was having a dry spell.” He flutters his eyelashes at Jehan. “My new friends are clearly too distracting.”

Surprisingly, Jehan doesn’t laugh. They smile, but it doesn’t quite reach their eyes. “If you want to find a lady friend tonight, I won’t be offended.”

Courfeyrac shakes his head. “No, I’m comfortable,” he says. It’s more than that; he really _doesn’t_ want to. Maybe his sex drive is broken. Maybe he should talk to Combeferre. Actually, no, maybe he should talk to a real doctor. Talking to Combeferre about his dick is always scarring.

“Yay,” Jehan says. They start running their fingers through Courfeyrac’s hair, humming happily. “I like your curls.”

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac says sleepily, and closes his eyes, content to stay exactly where he is.

***

Courfeyrac wakes up on an unfamiliar sofa in a very, very bright living room. “Ugh,” he mumbles, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Morning,” someone whispers very close to his ear. “Coffee?”

“Morning, and yes, please,” Courfeyrac whispers back, dropping his arm to see Jehan leaning over him. In the morning light, with their hair scraped back into a messy ponytail and last night’s glitter stuck to their stubble in patches, Jehan looks older than they usually do. It suits them.

Jehan nods and leads the way across the living room to a little kitchenette tucked into the corner.

Courfeyrac rolls out of bed and follows them, snagging a blanket from the sofa to wrap around his shoulders. He’s never been to Jehan and Grantaire’s apartment before. It’s very _them_ , from the rusty bicycle mounted on the wall to the woodland fairytale painted across the kitchen cupboards.

Jehan pours Courfeyrac a cup of coffee and pushes it across the breakfast bar to him, followed by a bowl of sugar.

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac whispers, adding liberal amounts of milk and sugar, while Jehan pours themself straight black coffee. “Why are we whispering?”

Jehan leans their elbows on the counter. They look tired, but happy enough. “Grantaire’s sleeping. I’d like to be non-hungover, before he wakes up.”

“Will he tease you?” Courfeyrac guesses. Grantaire doesn’t seem the type to resent people going out and having a good time, but now he comes to think of it, Courfeyrac doesn’t think he’s ever seen Grantaire drink.

“Something like that,” Jehan says. They start off slow, like they were going to say something else, or like they were surprised by the question. They don’t explain though, just drink more coffee.

“I had fun, last night,” Courfeyrac says then realises he sounds as though he’s talking about a date. He’s lucky that he can get away with quite a lot of blushing, before it becomes noticeable, because his face definitely feels hot.

“Me too,” Jehan says, grinning. “We should make it a regular thing. You’re lots of fun to dance with.”

Courfeyrac is still blushing. What the fuck is the matter with him? "'Courf and Jehan’s Dance Revolution?'” he suggests.

“‘So You Think You Can Courf,’” Jehan says.

“‘Dancing With The Jehans,’” Courfeyrac says. They’re both laughing now, and his face finally feels the right temperature again. 

“Oh my god, morning people,” Grantaire’s voice sighs from the kitchen doorway. “It is too early for laughter, you heathens.”

He drags himself into the kitchen, looking more than half-asleep. He’s wearing a dressing gown over checked pyjama bottoms, but the belt is untied and he trips over it twice on the way to the sink.

“Sorry,” Courfeyrac says immediately. “We were trying not to wake you up.”

“Nah, I wasn’t asleep.” Grantaire’s hands are shaking slightly, when he picks a glass off the draining rack and fills it with water from the tap.

“Are you okay?” Jehan asks, frowning.

Grantaire finishes downing his water, waving them off as he does so. “Fine,” he says, “just can’t sleep,” with the soft sort of smile Courfeyrac has noticed he only gives to Jehan. It’s different from the smile he saves for Enjolras, but no less warm.

“R,” Jehan says quietly. They sound sad. Courfeyrac is definitely missing something and is definitely in the way, but he can’t excuse himself now, without making things more awkward. Courfeyrac has a policy of trying to make life as non-awkward as possible.

Grantaire presses his hands down on the counter and drops his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “I heard you two come home and it made me go slightly insane, but that’s not your fault. I’m _fine_.”

Courfeyrac looks at Jehan, but Jehan isn’t looking at him. Courfeyrac has no way of telling what’s going on.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” Jehan says, sounding wretched. They jump up from their chair and press themself to Grantaire’s back. They nudge their nose to Grantaire’s bowed neck, but Grantaire doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to drink, I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying sorry,” Grantaire whispers. His voice is shaking, too. Courfeyrac should definitely not be here.

He stands up, taking his coffee with him, and slips out of the kitchen. He finds his jacket slung over the handle of the front door and fishes around in his pocket for his phone, but once he has it in his hand, he’s not sure what to do with it. Should he call Enjolras and ask what the fuck is going on? That feels like some sort of betrayal.

In the end, he puts his phone back and takes himself back through the apartment, looking for the shower. There’s a very small, slightly unsafe looking bathroom right at the back of the apartment, with a old fashioned claw foot bathtub propped up on bricks and a shower in the corner with no shower curtain.

Still, Courfeyrac once lived with Marius. He’s dealt with worse.

***

After Courfeyrac has taken a probably-suspiciously long shower, searched around for a towel for a while, then put yesterday’s club-smelling clothes back on, he can’t put off going back into the living room.

He finds Jehan at the stove, cooking breakfast, and Grantaire curled up in the corner of the sofa, a blanket tucked over his knees and pulled up to his chin. Neither of them are looking at each other and both their eyes are a little red.

Courfeyrac wants to fix whatever happened really, really badly. He hates it when his friends are sad.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to Grantaire. “All right?”

Grantaire picks at the fabric of the blanket, pulling up little tufts of blue and pink fluff. After a moment, he reaches over and touches the bracelet around Courfeyrac’s wrist. “What did you get yours for?” he asks.

Courfeyrac grins down at it. He looks up at Jehan, but Jehan isn’t looking at them. “Being a super spy,” he says.

Grantaire doesn’t ask, just pushes up his dressing gown sleeve and shows Courfeyrac his right wrist. There are three bracelets, all in different colours, wrapped around it. “I got this one the day we met, because they said they wanted to buy my friendship. I got this one, when we moved in together, and this one when Enjolras and I sorted our shit out.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac says. He’s sure the point isn’t _look how much more important I am to Jehan than you are,_ but he can’t help still feeling a little like that.

Grantaire meets his eye then slowly, deliberately pushes back his left sleeve. There are maybe half a dozen more bracelets on that side, red shading into pink and just turning to orange near his wrist. Grantaire taps them. “I get one of these for each month I stay sober,” he says. “I’ve got eight.”

“Oh,” Courfeyrac says, a lot of things suddenly making sense. “Shit.”

Grantaire laughs, a quick but genuine burst of sound. “It’s not a secret,” he says. “I thought Enjolras would have told you, but we just worked out that you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know,” Courfeyrac promises. He wasn’t too drunk when they came back here last night, and he thinks the worst thing he did was a little off-key singing, but if Grantaire is struggling to stay sober then who knows what might be too much for him. He reaches out and squeezes Grantaire’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Grantaire shakes his head quickly. “Thank you for taking Jehan out,” he says. He doesn’t whisper it, obviously fine with Jehan overhearing. “I’m no fun, sometimes. They need fun friends.”

“Pfft,” Jehan mutters. They turn away from the stove with a plate of toast and eggs, which they brings over to Grantaire. “I’m not a puppy; I don’t need exercising.”

Courfeyrac tugs on the hem of Jehan’s t-shirt. It has a rainbow across the front, a leprechaun with very angry teeth at one end. “If you were a puppy, you’d be Cerberus,” he says.

Jehan beams like being likened to Hades’s dog is a massive compliment. “Would you like some breakfast, Monsieur Courfeyrac?” they ask.

“I would,” Courfeyrac says, “but I’d better be getting home. Combeferre pouts if we don’t all have Saturday breakfast together.”

The smiles he gets from both of them make him pretty sure they’re not sorry to see him go. He doesn’t take it personally - sometimes you need time alone with your best friend; Courfeyrac should know.

Jehan sees him to the door, and leans against it, sleepily, watching Courfeyrac check he has everything. 

“I had a really good time, last night,” Jehan says, like Courfeyrac did, earlier. Unlike Courfeyrac, they don’t blush. Courfeyrac still doesn’t understand what that was about.

“Next time we go out, you can come back to ours, after,” Courfeyrac says.

Jehan glances over their shoulder then turns back to Courfeyrac with a sad smile. “Good plan,” they say. They step forward, hands lifted questioningly.

Courfeyrac drags them in and hugs them. “See you soon,” he says. He hesitates then adds, “If you ever need a…” He doesn’t want to say break; people don’t need a break from their friends. “Change of scenery, come over to ours.”

“Thank you,” Jehan says and kisses him on the cheek, before letting him go.

Courfeyrac sucks in a breath, startled, but manages to grin and wave goodbye, like nothing happened. 

Once Jehan has closed the door behind him and Courfeyrac has made it halfway down the stairs, he stops and presses his fingers to his skin. Despite the seriousness of the morning, he can’t stop smiling.

***

It’s an evening when none of them have any other plans, so they’re all curled up in the living room, watching one of Combeferre’s nature documentaries. This one’s about penguins, so Courfeyrac is doing a lot more cooing than he thinks Combeferre and Enjolras would really prefer.

“Oh my god, look at that one,” he says, while a tiny baby penguin frantically flaps its tiny, fluffy wings. “‘Ferre, I want one.”

“No,” Combeferre says, just as he’s been saying all evening. He’s such a spoilsport.

“What about a small one?” Courfeyrac wheedles. “Those really little ones that hop around on rocks?”

“Rockhoppers?” Enjolras offers, in English. Courfeyrac understands enough to know he’s being mocked, so he flips Enjolras off.

“Shh,” Combeferre says. “Do I talk when it’s your turn to pick what we watch?”

“You talked over the whole of The Lego Movie,” Courfeyrac reminds him. He slides across the sofa and puts his head on Enjolras’s shoulder. “Remind ‘Ferre how magnanimously I forgave him.”

Enjolras pats him on the leg. It’s mostly to shut him up, Courfeyrac’s sure, but he takes it to mean he can leave his head where it is and have a nap. He’s had a long, long day of lectures; even the adorableness of penguins and his friends’ annoyed faces aren’t enough to keep him awake.

He jerks awake some time later, when the doorbell rings, a long buzz, as though someone’s finger slipped on the buzzer.

“Did we order pizza?” Courfeyrac slurs, still half-asleep. 

“No,” Enjolras says, sounding confused and starting to stand.

Combeferre waves him back down, and leaves the room. They hear him walk down the corridor and open the door and then some muffled voices.

“Courf,” Combeferre says, appearing back in the doorway. Behind him is Jehan, looking incredibly awkward, arms crossed over a silky purple shirt that hangs down almost as far as their knees. 

“Oh, hey,” Courfeyrac says, sitting up from Enjolras’s shoulder.

Jehan smiles at him. Their fingers are tapping against their biceps. “You said, um. You said, if I needed a change of scenery.”

“Yes, of course,” Courfeyrac says, patting the sofa next to him. “We’re watching adorable penguins. You’ll like them; they’re badass.”

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asks, frowning. He looks from Jehan to Courfeyrac and back.

Jehan’s arms tighten. "I’m not…" They shake their head. “Actually fuck that. Grantaire’s having a shitty week. I wish he’d just tell you.”

Enjolras makes a soft, wounded sound as if he wishes that too. “Where is he now?” he asks, standing up. “Is he on his own?”

“Of course not.” Jehan glares, but it doesn’t last long. They look exhausted, as though they haven’t slept since Courfeyrac left their apartment, the day before yesterday. “Joly and Bossuet are cheering him up.”

Enjolras twists his hands together. “I’d like… I wish…” He lifts his hands and scrubs them over his face. Without a word, Combeferre pauses the TV.

“I know that feel,” Jehan says heavily, smiling wonkily at Enjolras. They look at the sofa cushion next to Courfeyrac, but end up sitting on the floor by Courfeyrac’s feet. “Is this okay?”

“Of course,” Courfeyrac says. His fingers twitch for a second, before he gives in and reaches for Jehan’s hair, combing his fingers through it.

Jehan sighs and leans back into Courfeyrac’s hand, closing their eyes.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Enjolras says, getting up. Combeferre catches his wrist, as he passes and murmurs a question. Courfeyrac looks away, before he can accidentally eavesdrop, focusing instead on easing the knots from Jehan’s hair.

“Tangles,” Courfeyrac tsks, fingers getting stuck in the middle of a long strand of red. A little cloud of glitter falls out, coating the back of his hand. If feels like ages since they went dancing.

“Just call me Rapunzel,” Jehan murmurs. They lean their cheek against Courfeyrac’s knee, clearly exhausted, so Courfeyrac stops trying to comb their hair and starts stroking it instead. He’s learned from long experience of having a sister and an Enjolras that that’s much more relaxing.

Enjolras comes back into the room, attention fixed on his phone as his thumbs fly over the keyboard. He frowns at the screen then holds it out for Courfeyrac to see.

_Glad J’s there. Tell Courf to take care of them? Don’t think they’ve slept since Saturday. #badfriend_

Courfeyrac hands the phone back and watches as Enjolras types quickly: _You’re not a bad friend. Can I come around?_

Grantaire is slow to reply, so Courfeyrac stops watching. Whatever Grantaire sends back, Enjolras stays where he is, and Courfeyrac is free to focus on making Jehan as comfortable as he can.

Combeferre puts the penguin show back on, but Courfeyrac has lost the urge to coo. Jehan makes happy noises, when more baby chicks hatch though, so it’s worth it just for that.

When one episode ends and Combeferre looks around to see if they want to watch the next, Courfeyrac realises that Jehan has fallen asleep.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Enjolras says, frowning. He’s still clutching his phone, but it hasn’t lit up in a while.

“No,” Courfeyrac agrees. He leans down and slides his hand under Jehan’s armpit. “Come on, Cerberus, up on the sofa.”

Jehan mumbles sleepily but lets themself be dragged up to sit between Courfeyrac and Enjolras. Then they steal all of Courfeyrac’s breath away, by curling up against Courfeyrac’s side, head on his chest, and falling straight back to sleep.

Courfeyrac can’t move. He feels as though he’s holding a baby bird in his arms, but at the same time, Jehan feels dangerous as a tiger or an unexploded bomb. 

He has no idea how long he spends staring at the top of Jehan’s head in wonder, but he definitely misses Combeferre getting up and leaving the room. It’s startling, when Enjolras’s phone suddenly rings.

Jehan jumps, sitting up with a confused, anxious noise. Courfeyrac reaches out automatically and catches their hand, squeezing.

“R?” Enjolras asks, standing up with the phone pressed to his ear. He listens intently for a while, eyes closed and face screwed up in worry, then his shoulders gradually, _gradually_ drop. “Yes, yes of course. No, shh, I’ll be there soon.”

Jehan’s hand spasms around Courfeyrac’s, fingernails digging into Courfeyrac’s palm.

“I’m going to go and pick him up and bring him back here,” Enjolras tells them, phone pressed to his chest. He looks straight at Jehan. “You’ll stay, too?”

“If - ”Jehan starts, obviously intending to be polite then breaks off. “Yes, please.”

Enjolras nods. “I’ll pick up some things for you. Will Grantaire know what you need?”

Jehan agrees that he will and that’s all Enjolras waits to hear before leaving the flat in a rush. Left alone, Jehan slumps backwards onto the sofa with a sigh.

“Okay?” Courfeyrac asks, reaching out and squeezing their shoulder.

“Just really fucking relieved he finally called Enjolras,” Jehan says without opening their eyes. They cover their face with their hands. “God, sorry, I’m so tired.”

“You should go to bed,” Courfeyrac says. He realises as he says it that there’s a little problem there. “I mean, okay, we don’t actually have a spare room? But I can make up the sofa or, honestly, you’re welcome to bunk in with me.”

Jehan lowers their hands just far enough that they can squint at Courfeyrac over the tops of their fingers. “Would that be weird?” they ask.

“No,” Courfeyrac promises easily. “Why would it be? It’d be like a sleepover. I haven’t had one of those for years.” That’s not strictly true; sometimes he and Enjolras and Combeferre all sleep in the living room, just because they don’t feel like being apart, but Courfeyrac wants to make this fun for Jehan.

Jehan smiles. “Okay,” they say. “That sounds nice.”

They get ready for bed quietly, moving around each other with a surprising sort of ease. By the time they’ve both brushed their teeth and Jehan has changed into a spare pair of Courfeyrac’s pyjamas, Enjolras has returned with Grantaire.

Jehan races out to see him, but Courfeyrac hangs back, makes himself stay in his room and mind his own business, even though he always likes to be part of everything, especially things that might upset his friends.

When Jehan comes back, they’re smiling, looking relieved. “They’re talking,” they say, sitting down on the bed beside Courfeyrac. “Thank god.”

Courfeyrac sits up straight and pats the space beside him, indicating the other side of his double bed. “Come on,” he says. “Sleepover time.”

Jehan bites their bottom lip shyly. “Really?” they asks.

“Unless you think it’ll be weird?” Courfeyrac says, belatedly realising that Jehan might not want to share with a guy they're not sleeping with. 

“No, no.” Jehan shakes their head. “I just meant… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Courfeyrac scoffs. “Get into bed Jean Jehan,” he says. “I want snuggles.”

Laughing, Jehan climbs into bed beside him. They lean back on the spare pillow with a tired little groan. “God. Aren’t weekends supposed to be relaxing?”

Courfeyrac lies down on his side, facing Jehan. “Can I ask you a question that is super impertinent and none of my business?”

Weirdly, that makes Jehan smile. “Oh, please do,” they say.

Courfeyrac still isn’t sure if he should, but he’ll die of curiosity, if he doesn’t. “You and Grantaire are really close. Have you two ever, you know?”

Jehan raises a dark eyebrow. “Fucked?” they ask.

Courfeyrac starts to laugh, inhales wrongly and ends up coughing. It’s totally smooth. He could honestly not be cooler. “Well, I mean, kind of?” he manages to get out. “I meant dated though, really.”

Jehan shifts around until they’re lying on their side as well, facing Courfeyrac. “No, we’ve never, ever dated. That would be such a disaster. He’s my best friend, that’s all.” They wait a second then add, “We’ve fucked quite a lot, though.”

Courfeyrac had just been nodding along, relaxing at the easy resolution to his question. Now he startles then bursts out laughing. “You’re _awful_ ,” he says admiringly. “When?”

Jehan grins. “Mostly when we were teenagers. Occasionally when we’re both single and horny, but I really don’t think _that’s_ going to be happening again, not with Enjolras on the scene.”

Courfeyrac nods again. Right, good, Enjolras would never be okay with sharing; he’s just not built that way. That’s why he’d asked. “Good,” he says.

Jehan’s smile fades, but they don’t look unhappy or concerned, just thoughtful. “Good?” they echo.

Courfeyrac swallows. “Yes,” he says. They’re not _that_ close together, but it feels suddenly as though they are. It's almost as though he can feel Jehan’s warmth seeping him under his skin, even though that’s probably only the heavy winter duvet.

Before he can think of something more eloquent to say, Jehan yawns.

“Sorry,” they say, belatedly covering their mouth. “Courf, sorry, did you want to ask something else?”

Courfeyrac feels his heart jump, a sudden pounding of his pulse in his ears. “Noooo,” he says, dragging it out and forcing his mouth into a smile, not whatever weird self-consciously stilted thing it wants to do. “No, you’re tired, let’s just sleep.”

“Okay,” Jehan says after a tiny pause. Their eyelashes are fluttering, eyelids fighting not to close, so it’s not much of a persuasion on Courfeyrac’s part.

He touches his fingers to the space at the top of Jehan’s nose, right between their eyes. He kind of wants to touch their eyelids, but that seems like an intimacy too far.

“Are you trying to magic me to sleep?” Jehan asks, letting their eyes stay closed this time.

“Yep, that’s exactly it.” Courfeyrac taps Jehan’s skin gently. “Go to sleep, little rosebud,” he intones solemnly.

Jehan laughs softly into their pillow. “Rosebud?” he asks.

Courfeyrac’s face feels hot. He’s glad Jehan isn’t looking at him. “It suits you,” he says. He doesn’t explain that Jehan makes him think of the sweetly smelling rosebushes in his grandmother’s garden, of sparkling dew on crisp morning leaves.

“I like it,” Jehan murmurs sleepily. They take hold of Courfeyrac’s hand, lacing their fingers together so their hands are resting on the bed between their faces. They’re close enough that Courfeyrac could kiss Jehan’s chipped finger polish. Courfeyrac blinks at himself. Who kisses finger polish?

“You’re making me weird,” he whispers to Jehan.

Jehan doesn’t answer. They’re already fast asleep.

***

Having five people living in their three-person flat should feel horribly crowded, but actually Courfeyrac enjoys it.

“You would,” Combeferre tells him darkly, while they’re queuing to use the bathroom.

Courfeyrac leans into him, his chin on the shoulder of Combeferre’s toweling robe. “I don’t know what you mean fair Ferre.” He sniggers. “Fair Ferre.”

Combeferre pats him on the top of the head. “Shh, it’s very early.”

It is. It’s horribly early. He and Enjolras have a nine a.m. lecture that he’s pretty sure Enjolras won’t be going to, since he was up with Grantaire all night, Combeferre has a seminar and library time before it, and Jehan is currently having a super fast shower so they can get to an 8.30 tutorial. 

Courfeyrac isn’t even a little stressed.

Courfeyrac slept better than he’s slept in ages, last night, and he’s woken up feeling like he’s walking on air.

Jehan comes out of the bathroom with wet hair dripping down their back, one towel wrapped around their waist and another around their chest. It belatedly occurs to Courfeyrac that they’re not all boys together here and perhaps they should have given Jehan a little more space.

“Morning,” is all Jehan says though. They’re talking to Combeferre, since they and Courfeyrac spent a good ten minutes hiding under the duvet and whispering, before either of them got out of bed.

“Good morning,” Combeferre says with a smile and a nod. He slips into the bathroom, and Courfeyrac steps forward to take his place at the head of the queue. 

Jehan smiles at Courfeyrac but doesn’t say anything. Courfeyrac smiles back. He can’t think of anything to say, either. 

Eventually, he settles on, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jehan says, lips ticking up still further. A drop of water rolls down their neck and they shiver. “I’m going to get dressed then make some coffee for R and Enjolras. Shall I make some for you, too?”

Courfeyrac isn’t sure how he’s going to manage coffee and a shower at the same time, but, “Coffee?” he says hopefully.

Jehan laughs at him. “Coming up,” they say then disappear down the corridor.

They come back ten minutes later, wearing trousers for the first time Courfeyrac has seen and a long white shirt with ruffles on the sleeves. They hand Courfeyrac a mug of coffee and a hair brush. 

“Help?” they ask, tugging on the end of their hair, which looks a little matted. “I normally get Grantaire to do it, but.”

“I get to play with your hair?” Courfeyrac asks, bouncing enough that he endangers his coffee and has to stop. “Yay, that’s my favourite thing!”

By the time Combeferre comes out of the bathroom, back in his dressing gown with his hair a little frizzy from the steam, Courfeyrac and Jehan are sitting on the floor and Courfeyrac is carefully fishtail-plaiting Jehan’s hair.

“Aren’t you in a rush?” Combeferre asks.

Courfeyrac lifts the mug he just stopped to take a sip from. “Multitasking,” he says.

Jehan leans their head back as far as they can with Courfeyrac attached to one end. “Courfeyrac has secret hairdressing skills.”

“Those aren’t a secret,” Combeferre says, patting his own tight curls protectively. “Just ask poor Enjolras.”

“Hey, Enjolras _loves_ it when I do his hair!” Courfeyrac says indignantly. In the face of Combeferre’s look, he quails a little. “Well, except that time I turned it pink.” In his defense, Enjolras is very blond and Courfeyrac finds that confusing.

“You can turn my hair pink any time you like,” Jehan says, sounding kind of excited at the idea.

“That’s why you’re my favourite,” Courfeyrac says, impulsively kissing them on the cheek.

Jehan laugh and blushes and ducks their head. “Shouldn’t you shower?” they asks, cheeks still very red.

“In a minute,” Courfeyrac says. When he looks up, he finds Combeferre watching him with one raised eyebrow.

Courfeyrac is usually pretty good at reading eyebrows but he has no idea what that one is supposed to mean. He frowns a question, but Combeferre just shakes his head. “Have a good day, both.”

Courfeyrac watches him leave, still none the wiser about what that eyebrow meant. Mentally, he shrugs and goes back to plaiting Jehan’s hair.

***

Enjolras and Grantaire are curled together on the sofa, when Courfeyrac gets home.

Grantaire has his head on Enjolras’s shoulder, legs tucked under a blanket and draped across Enjolras’s thighs. He looks tired, but he's laughing at something Enjolras is saying.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac whispers. “Anyone need anything?”

Grantaire shakes his head. "I'm good," he says.

“Hot chocolate?” Courfeyrac offers. “I make the best in the city.”

“He does,” Enjolras agrees, stroking a thumb across Grantaire’s temple.

“Yes, okay,” Grantaire says, rolling his head and pressing his face into Enjolras’s neck. “Thanks.”

Courfeyrac catches Enjolras’s eye over Grantaire’s head and tries to smile encouragingly. Enjolras nods, managing a wobbly, half-smile of his own.

In the kitchen, Courfeyrac puts milk on the stove to heat, then leans against the counter to wait. 

There's a knock on the door, while the milk is still only tepid, but he makes sure to turn it down, before he goes to answer the door.

No one needs a repeat of the Exploding Milk Scandal of 2014.

"Oh, we should get you some keys!" Courfeyrac realises, letting Jehan in.

Jehan looks delighted but shakes their head. "We won't be here _that_ long," they say.

Courfeyrac seizes them by the belt loops and dances them into the kitchen. "Well you should be," he says. "What will I do when you've gone home? I'll pine!"

Jehan's back hits the fridge and they laugh, grabbing onto Courfeyrac's shoulders for balance. “You’ll cope,” they say, grinning broadly. They’re wearing bright red lipstick, which makes their lips look obscenely full.

Courfeyrac leans in, planting a hand on either side of Jehan’s head. He doesn’t want to let them go. It’s nice having them right here, paying attention to him.

Jehan’s smile dims a little, turning quizzical. “Courf?” they say. 

The bright red of Jehan’s lips is making Courfeyrac’s brain go haywire. He’s acutely aware of his own lips, which suddenly feel dry. He licks them.

Jehan copies him, pink tongue flicking out and running over their own lips. “Am I your prisoner?” Jehan asks.

“Do you want to be?” Courfeyrac asks. It’s a game, it’s just a game, he should drop his hands and tickle Jehan or something, make them both laugh, but he can’t seem to do that.

He thought it was an easy question, but Jehan seems genuinely torn. “I - ” they say. They lick their lips again. “Yes.” It comes out as barely a whisper. Courfeyrac has to lean closer to be able to hear them.

“Hey,” he says. He has no idea where he’s going from there, so it should be a relief that the milk suddenly bubbles up, interrupting them. It’s not a relief.

Courfeyrac spins away, snatching the pan off the stove and grabbing a spoon, so he can stir the milk quickly and stop it sticking to the bottom.

“Sorry,” he says, once the crisis is under control.

Jehan doesn’t answer immediately. When they do, they sound a little shaky. “What are you sorry about?”

“I don’t know,” Courfeyrac realises. He’s sorry that whatever was happening against the fridge got interrupted, but he doesn’t know what _was_ happening against the fridge.

“What are you making?” Jehan asks, coming up beside him, but stopping on the other side of the stove.

“Hot chocolate,” Courfeyrac says. “Want some?”

Jehan nods, so Courfeyrac adds some more milk. He melts half a bar of chocolate into it, concentrating more than he needs to, because he suddenly doesn’t know how to behave around Jehan.

When it’s ready, he pours out four mugs of hot chocolate, tops them up with chocolate powder, then adds some sprinkles. He’s hoping Grantaire will enjoy it, and he wants it to be as bright and happy-making as possible for him.

“That looks amazing,” Jehan says, taking theirs. They frown, when Courfeyrac goes to move past them, carrying the other two mugs. "Who are those for?”

Courfeyrac shoulders open the door. “Enjolras and Grantaire. Or, well, mostly Grantaire. He looks like he could do with some chocolate to cheer him up.”

Jehan’s eyes go wide and an expression crosses their face that Courfeyrac can’t read. “You did all that for R?” they ask.

“Sure?” Courfeyrac says, shrugging. “I just thought it would help, you know?”

“Fuck,” Jehan mutters, very quietly and very sincerely. Then they’re moving in a flurry of speed and scarves, pressing a quick, firm kiss to Courfeyrac’s mouth, before dropping back and stepping away.

Courfeyrac freezes, fingers spasming around the mug handle, so he won’t drop it. That happened so fast, he’s not sure it happened at all. “What - ?”

“Take that to Grantaire,” Jehan interrupts. One arm is folded across their chest, the other lifting the mug to hide their mouth behind. “Please?”

Courfeyrac doesn’t have much choice but to do as he’s asked.

***

“Hot chocolates for my favourite people,” Courfeyrac says as he walks back into the living room. Enjolras and Grantaire were talking softly, but they break off, when he comes in.

“Wow,” Grantaire says, eying the hot chocolate. His eyes light up when he sees the sparkles and he laughs. Courfeyrac feels a little burst of satisfied pride.

“Like the man said, I’m the best,” Courfeyrac says, dropping a wink in Grantaire’s direction.

Grantaire opens his mouth to reply then stops, frowns slightly. “Is Jehan wearing lipstick, today?” he asks.

“Yes?” Courfeyrac asks slowly, wondering if that means something. Jehan is wearing lipstick, so they’re more likely to randomly kiss their friends. That would be a relief. Or… maybe a relief. Courfeyrac thinks it would be a relief?

Grantaire beckons Courfeyrac forward. “Maybe check a mirror,” he says, touching his thumb very lightly to Courfeyrac’s lower lip.

Courfeyrac flashes to the bright red on Jehan’s red lips, the warm, smooth glide against his and straightens up quickly.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling his face and the back of his neck go hot. “I will.”

“What?” Enjolras asks, frowning. “I’ve missed something.”

Grantaire leans back into him. “Concentrate on your hot chocolate,” he says. “The grown-ups are talking.”

There’s very little Courfeyrac can’t and hasn’t said to Enjolras, but he can’t imagine getting away with _that_ without an explosion. For Grantaire, Enjolras just huffs and rolls his eyes.

Instinctively, Courfeyrac bends down and drops a kiss on his forehead. Then, just to be fair, he kisses Grantaire's cheek. “Love you both, chickadees.”

Enjolras screws up his nose. “Must you?” he asks.

Grantaire turns and kisses him where Courfeyrac did. “Better?” he asks. “I got rid of Courf’s cooties for you.”

Courfeyrac would be offended by that, but he likes the way Enjolras blushes and how Grantaire is obviously feeling better. Not to mention, he’s kind of impatient to look in a mirror.

“See you soon,” he says, and leaves them to it.

There’s a mirror in the hall by the front door. He heads there, telling himself that he’s not being a coward by avoiding the kitchen or his bedroom: the two places Jehan is most likely to be.

The smudge of lipstick on his mouth isn’t as obvious as he was imagining, but it’s definitely there. He touches a fingertip to it curiously, and a little comes off on his nail. He could wash it off easily, but he’s not sure he wants to, yet.

He’s about to go on a Jehan hunt, when he notices that the front door isn’t closed, just resting on the latch.

Pulling it open, he finds Jehan sitting on the front step, smoking hard, the butts of two other cigarettes sitting next to them. There's lipstick on them, too.

“Hey?” Courfeyrac says, cautiously. 

Jehan looks up, then jumps to their feet. “I’m sorry,” they say quickly. Then wait, frozen as though giving Courfeyrac space to shout.

“Why on earth?” Courfeyrac asks, honestly baffled.

Jehan points their cigarette at Courfeyrac, looking miserable. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m really sorry.”

“No, hey, it’s fine. Obviously. Honestly.” Courfeyrac flounders. He’s not sure what to say to _show_ that it was fine, but he knows it was.

Jehan winces. “Please don’t,” they say. “God, you’re so _nice_. Could you be less nice; that’s why I - ” They cut themself off. “Sorry. Shit. I’m going to see Grantaire.”

They slide past Courfeyrac, glaringly careful not to touch him and disappear back into the house. Courfeyrac watches them go. He wants to call them back, but he still doesn’t know what to say. 

Jehan has left their cigarettes outside. Courfeyrac bends and picks up the box. The lighter rattles around inside, so he lights one, copying the now-familiar movements he’s watched Jehan and Grantaire make a thousand times.

It takes one drag to see him doubled over, coughing so hard his eyes water.

“Fuck,” he gasps. He drops the cigarette on the floor and stamps it out. He keeps stamping long after it’s stopped glowing. By the time he stops, his chest is heaving. “Fuck.”

***

It takes a long time for Jehan to come back out of the living room.

Courfeyrac tries hard not to imagine what they’re saying to Grantaire, and tries even harder not to mind that Enjolras is in there listening too, but it doesn’t work terribly well.

He wishes Combeferre were home. Courfeyrac could go and sit on his floor and whine until Combeferre paid attention to him. That always helps.

But Combeferre is at lectures, so Courfeyrac is left to lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling and worry. Courfeyrac doesn’t like worrying; he usually tries to avoid it, whenever he can.

“Hey,” Jehan says, shutting the door behind themself and leaning against it. They’re smiling a little, which makes Courfeyrac’s chest soar with hope, until Jehan says, “So, I’m going to go home.”

Courfeyrac sits up in a rush then stands so fast he gives himself a headrush. “What, no.” He holds out his hands but doesn’t try to touch. It’s hard; he likes touching. He always touches his friends.

“I really have to,” Jehan says. “Grantaire’s feeling better, he doesn’t need me to be around, and I… I need to do this for me.”

Abruptly, Courfeyrac feels like crying, which is ridiculous. He hasn’t even known Jehan all that long. He can’t need them as much as he feels like he does. “I don’t understand,” he says.

Jehan’s smile is sad and soft. They take Courfeyrac’s outstretched hands, squeezing. “I thought maybe it wasn’t a thing, but it is. You’re great and gorgeous and so nice to me and so kind of Grantaire and it’s just, it’s too much.”

“ _What_ is?” Courfeyrac asks. He hopes Jehan doesn’t want their hands back, because Courfeyrac doesn’t think he can let go.

“I like you,” Jehan says simply, brave as always. “Which means I need to put some space between us. So we can be friends again.”

Courfeyrac swallows hard. “But I like you, too,” he says.

Jehan shakes their head. “Not like that. It’s okay, it’s fine, you can’t help not being able to feel the same.” 

Tears spill down Courfeyrac’s cheeks. He feels like his world is ending, but he couldn’t explain why, probably not even with a gun to his head.

“No, Courf,” Jehan whispers, but Courfeyrac pulls away, before they can hug him. He doesn’t think he could take that.

“It’s okay,” he says, “it’s fine. I get it. I’m… I’m sorry I made you share my bed and things, I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

Jehan reaches for him again.

Courfeyrac steps back. “I’ll leave you to pack up your things, then. And I’ll, I’ll see you soon?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jehan says fiercely. “Yes, I promise.”

Courfeyrac nods and pushes his way blindly out of the room. He goes to the kitchen, because he doesn’t know where else to go, and finds Enjolras in there.

There’s no need to talk about it: Courfeyrac walks into Enjolras’s arms and Enjolras hugs him tightly.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Enjolras says, after a while.

Courfeyrac shakes his head. “Me neither,” he says and clutches Enjolras’s shirt tighter.

***

It’s well after midnight, but Courfeyrac can’t sleep. Sometimes that happens; he gets insomnia at stupid times, like the middle of the summer break or a random week in the middle of a semester.

He doesn’t usually lose sleep because he’s worried, but that’s what’s happening now. 

Jehan only shared his bed for one night, but Courfeyrac misses them terribly. It was so nice to have someone warm and comforting and effortlessly easy within touching distance all night long.

Courfeyrac refuses to sniff Jehan’s pillow, but he also hasn’t changed the pillowcase, so it’s still an option. Not an option he’s going to take, but an _option_.

When Courfeyrac’s phone beeps, he grabs it so fast it’s embarrassing.

It’s not Jehan. It’s Combeferre.

Courfeyrac never thought he’d be disappointed to hear from Combeferre.

 _Can you hear them down there???_ Combeferre has sent. The fact that he’s used multiple question marks is unusual and enough to spark his interest.

 _Who?_ he sends back, but once he’s sent it, he realises he doesn’t need to ask. Now that he’s paying attention to things that aren’t himself, he can hear the soft squeak-squeak of bedsprings, the muffled sound of happy voices.

Sounds like Grantaire is feeling _much_ better.

 _Kind of_ , Courfeyrac sends. _Want to come down?_

He doesn’t get an answer, but the next minute, he hears footsteps over his head, and then the creak of someone hurrying down the stairs. 

Courfeyrac scrubs his hands over his face and clears his throat so that he can be the soul of welcome, when Combeferre arrives.

“Welcome,” he says, when Combeferre comes shuffling in. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he looks big-eyed and bleary. Combeferre isn’t good for much past ten in the evening.

“Oh god, it’s so quiet down here,” Combeferre says, sinking down onto the bed next to Courfeyrac. 

Courfeyrac reaches over and pats his thigh. “Poor Ferre,” he says. “No one needs to know that much about Enjolras’s sex life.” Personally, Courfeyrac would prefer not to know _anything_ about Enjolras’s sex life. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased Grantaire is happier,” Combeferre says. Without asking, he’s crawling under Courfeyrac’s duvet, putting his head on what used to be Jehan’s pillow.

Obviously, Courfeyrac can’t tell him not to. He’s really pleased Combeferre forgot his glasses though; it’s too hard to school his face, right now.

“Sure,” Courfeyrac says. He lies down on his side facing Combeferre. “Makes sense.”

“Courf?” Combeferre asks sleepily. He looks half a minute from falling asleep, now he’s somewhere quiet. “You okay?”

“‘course,” Courfeyrac says brightly. He slides closer, nudging at Combeferre until their heads are both on Jehan’s pillow. Courfeyrac can smell Jehan, just like he thought he’d be able to. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“‘kay,” Combeferre says, and drops a heavy arm around Courfeyrac’s waist, before falling fast asleep.

Courfeyrac clutches at Combeferre’s arm, harder than he should, and hopes that eventually he’ll get some sleep, too.

***

Maybe Courfeyrac does get some sleep, but he’s not convinced of it, when morning finally comes.

Combeferre wakes up fully the second he opens his eyes, the way he always does, takes one look at Courfeyrac and drags him out of bed.

“Okay, sit down,” he says, pushing Courfeyrac down onto a stool by the breakfast bar. “I’m making you tea.”

“I don’t even get coffee, when I’m emotionally vulnerable?” Courfeyrac asks. He’s so tired. He drops his head down onto the breakfast bar and wonders, if he’ll finally fall asleep.

“No, because you’re going back to bed, once you’ve had some toast,” Combeferre says.

Courfeyrac says. “No, can’t, I’ve got a…” He waves his hand. “A thingy.”

“Tutorial?” Combeferre offers. He puts a mug of tea in front of Courfeyrac. He shouldn’t have been able to make it that quickly. Courfeyrac thinks he might have lost a couple of minutes to a power nap.

“Mm, yes,” Courfeyrac says, propping his chin on the rim of the mug and inhaling the steam. 

Combeferre sits down opposite him and leans back in his seat. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

No one ever lies to Combeferre. No one ever even prevaricates around Combeferre, mostly because there’s a very good chance that Combeferre will be able to fix whatever is wrong.

“My insides hurt,” Courfeyrac says, which is the closest he can come to describing this weird, empty, lost feeling in his chest.

Combeferre puts down his mug and looks up, frowning. “Did you eat Enjolras’s cooking, again?” he asks.

Courfeyrac shakes his head, unable to help smiling at him, despite how horrible he feels. “It’s not that kind of hurt,” he says. “I’m looking for Friend Ferre not Doctor Ferre, right now.”

“Oh.” Now Combeferre looks less certain, but he gamely stands up and walks around the bar to Courfeyrac’s side. “Want to talk?” he asks.

“Nooooo,” Courfeyrac says. “And by no, I mean yes, I’m just feeling reluctant about it.”

Combeferre nods. “Okay,” he says. “And on a completely unrelated note, I notice Jehan left rather suddenly, yesterday.”

Courfeyrac’s head snaps up. “You are not actually psychic,” he says, but he’s not sure he believes that, really.

Combeferre flicks him on the wrist bone, which hurts quite a lot. “No, I just pay attention to you, you idiot,” he says, fondly. “Now, what’s wrong?”

Courfeyrac fiddles with the bracelet around his wrist, the one Jehan made for him. It’s still just as hideous as it was when Jehan made it. Time has not improved it, but there’s no way he’ll ever take it off. “What if I liked a… someone with boy parts?” he asks.

“What if you did?” Combeferre asks, not even taking a second to hesitate.

It’s not as if Courfeyrac expected him to be appalled. Enjolras was thirteen when he came out to them, defiantly, preemptively furious, and Combeferre told them he thought he was asexual before they started university. There’s not going to be one rule for them and another for him.

“What if I really like them?” Courfeyrac asks. He doesn’t mean to sound uncertain; he’s never usually uncertain.

Combeferre puts his hand on Courfeyrac’s knee and squeezes. “Then you really like them. And you should probably tell them that, not me, but I’m assuming you already know that.”

Courfeyrac laughs, shakily. “I do know that; I’m not a robot unlike some people we live with, but what if… I don’t. I think I’ve fucked it up. I could have told them yesterday, but I didn’t, because I wasn’t sure and now, I mean, what if they don’t like me, anymore.”

“Whyever would they not like you, anymore?” Combeferre asks, frowning.

“They left,” Courfeyrac says, feeling like he did when he was five and his first best friend found a new best friend and Courfeyrac was relegated to second best friend status.

Except worse, and with less tears and hair-pulling involved. Well, less hair-pulling, anyway.

“Then they’re an idiot,” Combeferre says immediately. He sounds genuinely confused and a little indignant as though the idea of someone not liking Courfeyrac is beyond him. Courfeyrac adores him, he really does.

“They’re not an idiot,” Courfeyrac groans. “They’re wonderful.” He puts his head down on the breakfast bar because he is appalled at himself, at the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m the idiot. I got it wrong. I should have told them how much I lo- like, fuck, _love_ them. Ugh, feelings.”

“Don’t _ugh, feelings_ me,” Combeferre tells him, but much less harshly than he could. “You love feelings. Until you met Jehan, you were falling in love every other week.”

Courfeyrac glances sideways at him. “That didn’t feel like this.”

“No,” Combeferre says gently, “I guessed that.”

***

Courfeyrac sleeps the day away and drags himself out of bed around dinner time to find Grantaire in the living room, drawing something in his sketchbook.

“Morning,” Grantaire says, without looking up. There are three pencils stuck in his curls and a paintbrush behind one ear even though he doesn’t look like he’s been painting. 

“Morning,” Courfeyrac says, deciding to go with it rather than pointing out that it’s definitely evening. He sits down on the sofa, leaning his head back against the cushions.

“Something you need?” Grantaire asks. He’s concentrating hard on his page, a frown between his eyes, but his pencil isn’t moving anymore.

“Are you cross with me?” Courfeyrac asks. He isn’t great with people being angry with him, but he tries to sound casual about it, rather than incredibly needy.

“Yes,” Grantaire says then sighs, puts down his sketchbook and pencil, and twists around to face Courfeyrac. “No.” He nudges his toes against Courfeyrac’s leg. “Jehan’s sad, though.”

It’s not like Courfeyrac didn’t know, but hearing that feels like someone punched his kidneys. “I want to fix it,” he says. “ _How_ can I fix it?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You don’t need to do anything. Jehan’s working on it; they’ll get over it and then everything’ll be okay.”

Courfeyrac wants to ask, if that’s happened before, but he also really doesn’t want to know. “What if I don’t want them to get over it?” he asks. _Get over me_ , he means.

“Huh,” Grantaire says. He looks surprised. “Well that’s an option.” He nudges Courfeyrac again. “Are you sure? Jehan seems pretty convinced there’s no chance.”

Courfeyrac’s throat tries to close up, but he breathes through it. “I’m sure,” he says.

He feels a nervousness start to seep through his veins. He’s worried Grantaire will say _but you’re straight_ , he realises. He doesn’t think he could take that.

Grantaire doesn’t say that. Grantaire breaks into the biggest smile Courfeyrac has seen on his face and claps his hands together. “I am so fucking delighted,” he says, and he looks it. “Okay, Courf, you need to go and tell Jehan that _right now_.”

“I do?” Courfeyrac asks. “I was kind of planning to work up to it? I need to know what to say. Maybe I need a romantic declaration of some sort?”

“No,” Grantaire says firmly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Jehan is _totally_ into romantic declarations, but I’m much more into them not sending me miserable three a.m. texts again tonight, when I’m trying to get laid, so, you know. Sort it out, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac snorts a laugh. “You’re fantastic,” he says. “I’m so glad Enjolras found you. You’re never going to let him get away with anything, are you?”

“Not if I can help it,” Grantaire says. He looks surprised by the compliment, but very pleased. “Please go and fix Jehan.”

“I will,” Courfeyrac promises. He’s not nervous anymore. Now he’s just stubborn and determined, and very, very excited. If he can fix this, it’s going to be _great_.

***

Jehan and Grantaire’s apartment is as bohemian and artistic outside as it is inside. The front door is decorated with Grantaire’s artwork: mostly abstract pieces painted directly onto the wood, but also a little cartoon of Grantaire and Jehan, making their way up the doorframe.

Courfeyrac really hopes they’re not banking on getting their deposit back.

“No one’s home,” Jehan calls, when Courfeyrac knocks.

Courfeyrac knocks again.

“No one’s home,” Jehan repeats, from closer. Courfeyrac hears a quiet thud, which is probably Jehan leaning to rest against the other side of the door.

“Why aren’t you home, Jehan Prouvaire?” Courfeyrac asks. He splays his hand against the door, like a cliche. “Where are you instead?”

There’s a pause. Then, “Italy,” Jehan says. “Rome, I think.”

Courfeyrac smiles. It’s ridiculous to look back and think that twenty-four hours ago, he didn’t know he was in love with this person. “What’s it like?”

“Warm,” Jehan says, “but not too hot. I’m in the Pantheon, right now.”

“That’s sounds lovely. Can I come?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Courf,” Jehan says softly. “This isn’t giving me space.”

Courfeyrac knocks softly on the door. “I know. I’m sorry. Let me in?”

“But space,” Jehan says again. “I had a plan.” They open the door, even while they’re complaining about it. 

They’re wearing a floral dressing gown and a clashing floral scarf around their neck. Courfeyrac’s breath catches in what is just delight at seeing them. “Let me in, rosebud,” he says.

Jehan bites their lip. “Courf,” they say helplessly. 

Courfeyrac steps over the threshold and pulls Jehan into his arms. Jehan goes easily, willingly. They clutch at each other, both of them breathing shakily.

“I missed you,” Courfeyrac says into Jehan’s hair.

“It’s been less than a day,” Jehan says and then, before Courfeyrac can explain, adds, “but god, I missed you too.”

Courfeyrac laughs. He’s so happy and so relieved and they haven’t even sorted anything out yet. “Okay,” he says, making himself let go. “Okay, we need to talk.”

Jehan lets go immediately. “We do?” they ask, looking very wary, all of a sudden. They turn around and lead Courfeyrac into the living room, then hesitate, arms wrapped around themself.

“Come and sit down with me?” Courfeyrac asks. That seems safe. Sitting seems like the kind of position this conversation should be had in. He sits down on the sofa and pats it until Jehan joins him.

“Sitting,” Jehan says, glancing up from under their eyelashes. Courfeyrac forgot that Jehan was shy; they’re never shy with him. Never used to be, anyway.

Courfeyrac takes a deep breath. “I maybe have a crush and it maybe hurts a lot,” he admits.

“Oh,” Jehan says faintly.

Courfeyrac realises he’s been biting his lip and forces himself to stop. “And Ferre and Grantaire say I need to just admit it and then see what happens, but it’s… it’s a lot.”

“Courf,” Jehan whispers. “Who’s your crush on?”

Courfeyrac stares at them helplessly. They’re so beautiful. Courfeyrac might not even need to kiss them; just getting to look at them might be enough for him. “Come on,” he says, “you know.”

Jehan shakes their head, a little side-to-side twitch of denial. “I really, really need you to say.”

Courfeyrac holds out his hands, feeling his heart skip when Jehan takes them in both of theirs. Courfeyrac can feel someone’s pulse thumping in his palms; maybe it’s both of theirs. “Jean Jehan Prouvaire, I like you so much,” he says. “I’ve never liked anyone this much.”

“Oh,” says Jehan again, even softer than before. They look down at their hands. Their skin is so pale compared to Courfeyrac’s. When they look up, their eyes are bright but their mouth is worried. “You understand that I have a penis, right?”

Courfeyrac knows it’s a valid point and he shouldn’t laugh, but he laughs anyway, overwhelmed with feeling. “Yes,” he says. He tries hard not to sound too flippant. “I’ve given genuine thought to your boy parts and I don’t think they’re going to be a problem.”

Jehan squeezes his hands. “They’re not boy parts, I’m not a boy,” they say, but they’re smiling now.

“Sorry, I’ll learn,” Courfeyrac promises. “I want to learn everything, all about you.”

“I’d like that,” Jehan says “but, but are you _sure_? I mean, you might think you like me, but that doesn’t mean you want to have sex with me.” They’re blushing, but they’re not hesitating, now. “I want to have sex with you. A lot. That’s not something I’m going to be able to compromise on.”

Courfeyrac’s whole body goes hot. It’s less that he’s getting turned on and more that he’s suddenly turned all the way _up_. “I really don’t think it’s going to be a problem,” he says. He tries to grin, maybe throw in a wink, but at the last second, that seems unfair. “But yes, okay, you’re right. I can’t promise unless we try.”

Jehan laughs a little. “Is that your way of hitting on me, M. Courfeyrac?”

“Did it work?” Courfeyrac asks. 

Jehan nods. “Sadly, yes,” they say. They lean up just that little bit further, closing the gap between them and pressing their lips to Courfeyrac’s lips.

Courfeyrac can’t help gasping, sucking in a tiny, startled breath, not because he wasn’t expecting the kiss, but just because he’s so incredibly relieved. He lifts his hands and cups Jehan’s cheeks, stroking their cheekbones and moving in for a second kiss.

Jehan wraps their hands around Courfeyrac’s wrists, squeezing for a second, before letting go and sliding their hands up his arms to his elbows, then up again to curl around his biceps.

They kiss each other carefully, soft presses of slightly-parted lips, until Courfeyrac can’t take it anymore, has to tilt his head just so, change the angle and drag his tongue slowly across Jehan’s bottom lip.

Jehan gasps and clutches at his arms, pulling themself forward until their chests are almost touching. 

“Is this okay?” Jehan asks, between kisses, pressing their lips to Courfeyrac’s cheek, while waiting for Courfeyrac to answer.

“This is so great,” Courfeyrac whispers back. His heart is pounding. He thinks he might be shaking, or that could be Jehan. “We don’t need to stop, right?”

Jehan laughs, kissing him higher this time, closer to the corner of his eye. “No, never. Can I just… is it okay, if I?” They slide one arm around Courfeyrac’s back, then wait as though giving Courfeyrac time to object. Courfeyrac can’t _breathe_ , but he definitely isn’t complaining.

Jehan curls their other arm around Courfeyrac’s waist and suddenly Courfeyrac is being held, has Jehan’s warm, solid body tucked tightly against his. He drops his hands from Jehan’s face and has to clutch at their back instead.

“Okay?” Jehan asks again and Courfeyrac would complain that he’s _really_ not some kind of nervous virgin here, except that he’s so overwhelmed he thinks he might cry. He drops his head to Jehan’s shoulder and presses his face into their neck.

“This is amazing,” he confesses to Jehan’s warm skin. “I didn’t think I was going to get this; I didn’t think we were going to get here.”

Jehan holds him tighter still, humming something soft and sweet under their breath. “I’ve liked you since the first time we met,” they murmur, breath ruffling Courfeyrac’s curls. “You’re so bright and gorgeous, it’s like you light me up every time I see you.”

Courfeyrac has to lift his head at that. “Oh my god the same,” he says on one long breath. “I miss you any time we’re not actively talking and even, sometimes, when we are. Is that weird? Am I going too fast?”

Jehan shakes their head. They’re smiling so wide, they’re practically glowing. “No,” they say and, “kiss me again?”

Of course Courfeyrac does. That’s the sort of request he can’t imagine ever refusing. He kisses the corner of Jehan’s lips, the centre, the other corner. Kissing, at least, he knows he’s good at.

“You’re not wearing makeup, today,” he says, making his way back the other way, more kisses. 

“I was moping,” Jehan says. “Makeup isn’t for moping.”

Courfeyrac hums, trying not to feel happy that Jehan missed him, too. He kisses down to Jehan’s chin, and has to stop to explore the feel of stubble on his lips. “Huh,” he says and licks it.

Jehan giggles. “You’re like a cat,” they say.

“A sexy cat?” Courfeyrac asks hopefully. This time, he licks down Jehan’s throat, running the tip of his tongue around Jehan’s adam’s apple. 

Jehan is shivering constantly, making lovely little gasping sounds. “The sexiest,” they agree. “Come back up here?” 

Courfeyrac lifts his head and they kiss and kiss and kiss. Everything feels warm and good and easy. With Jehan’s mouth on his, it’s impossible to feel nervous, even though this is so important and he doesn’t really have any idea what he’s doing.

Jehan is still holding him like he matters, like he’s precious, and Courfeyrac has always liked to be held, but this is something more, something greater. 

“Don’t make me go home tonight?” Courfeyrac asks softly.

Jehan’s arms tighten around him. “Courf,” they say. They press kisses along Courfeyrac’s hair line. “I don’t want to rush this.”

Courfeyrac lifts his head quickly. “We don’t have to sleep together,” he says, “but I’d like to, ugh, _sleep together_. Can we? Please? I’m a good bed-sharer; I can provide references.”

“Really?” Jehan asks. Their voice is bubbling with laughter. It’s lovely to hear. “Who?”

“You.” Courfeyrac touches Jehan’s nose with his fingertips, tracing along the bridge. “Who else matters?”

Jehan bites their lip. “This is why I fell for you,” they scold. “You say such nice things to me.”

“I don’t mean to,” Courfeyrac says, then waves that away because it came out _very wrong_. “I mean, shit, I do mean _it_ , but I just find myself wanting to tell you how great you are, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know I can be too much, sometimes.”

Jehan catches his flailing hands. “You’re not too much for me,” they promise. They kiss both of Courfeyrac’s palms, one after the other. “Okay, well, if you’re staying the night, you’re helping me make dinner.”

“That sounds really fair,” Courfeyrac agrees. He stands up and pulls Jehan up with him, partly to be helpful and partly because then they don’t have to be too far apart. 

Jehan tucks their hand in Courfeyrac’s and leads him toward the kitchen area. “R always sings to me, when we’re cooking,” they say. “Are you going to do that, too?”

“I will totally sing to you,” Courfeyrac agrees. “I mean, it won’t be in tune or anything, but does that matter?”

Jehan squeezes his hand. “Really, really doesn’t,” they promise.

***

After dinner, they do the dishes and then they curl up on the sofa to watch some TV. It’s comfortable and domestic and doesn’t feel like a first date.

Courfeyrac keeps expecting to start feeling nervous, but it doesn’t come. 

They brush their teeth side by side, bumping hips and elbows, then Jehan kicks Courfeyrac out of the bathroom because apparently, “some things should be a mystery.”

Courfeyrac wanders into the bedroom and sits down on Jehan’s bed. There’s a fountain of happiness trying to shoot up through his chest. He covers his face with his hands and _beams_ into his palms for a while.

Luckily, he’s calmed down a little and is texting Combeferre and Enjolras not to expect him home, by the time Jehan comes into the room. Apparently Jehan wears shortie pyjamas with dinosaurs on them when sleeping in their own bed, which is the sort of fact Courfeyrac would pay to know.

They’ve plaited their hair into two long plaits and there’s a tiny smudge of toothpaste on their top lip.

“Come here,” Courfeyrac says and brushes it away with his thumb.

Jehan kisses him, breathing minty air into Courfeyrac’s mouth. “Do you have a side of the bed?” they ask.

“The middle?” Courfeyrac says, shrugging. It really has been a long time since he’s shared a bed, regularly.

“That works,” Jehan agrees. They nudge Courfeyrac over until he’s lying more-or-less in the centre of the bed then curl up against his side, head on his chest. “This okay?”

Courfeyrac wraps both arms around them. “Amazing,” he says. He strokes Jehan’s side, tugging a little on their pyjama top. “I like this.”

“Thanks,” Jehan says, pressing their face deeper into Courfeyrac’s t-shirt. “I like your chest.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “Thanks, I grew it myself.”

Jehan laughs as well and presses tighter against him. “What’s your favourite fairytale?” they ask.

“Aladdin,” Courfeyrac says promptly. “What’s yours?”

Jehan hums as though they’re thinking. “The Little Matchgirl, probably.” 

Courfeyrac squeezes them. “Dude, that’s incredibly depressing.”

“Yep.” Jehan tugs on Courfeyrac’s arm, arranging it across them how they want it. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Is this the game we’re playing?” Courfeyrac asks. He settles down more comfortably amongst Jehan’s pillows. It’s a very soft, pillow-filled bed, the sort of bed that has probably eaten several previous tenants. 

“Yep,” Jehan says again. “Come on, answer the question.”

“Green like your eyes,” says Courfeyrac, which makes Jehan groan. “No, no it really is green. You?”

“White,” Jehan says, “and don’t say it’s not a colour, because I _know_ and I don’t care.”

They sound so stubborn about it, and so completely prepared to fight to the death to defend white’s honour that Courfeyrac has to kiss them. 

“What’s your favourite sort of kiss?” he asks, once they’ve settled back down.

“That one,” Jehan says. “Why do you want to be a lawyer?”

That’s harder to answer, especially after a kiss that fried a few braincells, but Courfeyrac resolves to do his best to answer. If they’re going to play twenty questions all night, he wants to do it right.

***

“Hey, Courf, hey sleepy,” Jehan whispers, nudging soft lips against Courfeyrac’s cheek.

Courfeyrac hears himself mumble something and cracks one eye open, just to check whether it’s morning. It is. The bedroom is filled with light, diffused pink through the bright red curtains and Jehan is kneeling on the floor beside the bed.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac croaks. He clears his throat and tries again. He’s not sure how much sleep he got, but he thinks it might have been a lot.

“Yay, you’re awake,” Jehan says. They’re still talking softly, even softer than usual, as though afraid to break the morning stillness. “I missed you.”

“I’m right here,” Courfeyrac promises and reaches for them. He’s clumsy with sleepiness, but he manages to get a hand around one of Jehan’s plaits and uses it to gently pull them closer.

Jehan stops a couple of inches away even though Courfeyrac knows he’s very clearly telegraphing his need for a kiss. He pouts.

“Are you still sure?” Jehan asks. They’re not quite looking at Courfeyrac’s eyes, focused more on his cheekbones. “It’s fine, if you’re not, I promise.”

“But I’m so sure?” Courfeyrac says. He’s not awake enough to find this anything other than confusing. What sort of idiot wouldn’t be sure about Jehan? “Do I get a kiss now?”

“That’s - ” Jehan starts then clearly gives up. “Yes.” They lean in and kiss Courfeyrac gently on the lips. Their breath smells of toothpaste, which is clearly cheating.

“You brushed your teeth,” Courfeyrac says, pulling back. “Should I do that?”

“If you want,” Jehan says, nuzzling another kiss against the corner of Courfeyrac’s mouth. “I don’t mind.”

Courfeyrac wouldn’t mind either, if they _both_ had morning breath. But he can’t kiss Jehan as much as he wants to, if Jehan has brushed their teeth and Courfeyrac hasn’t.

“I will be right back,” Courfeyrac says, stealing one, two, _three_ more kisses, before he scrambles out of bed. He takes Jehan’s hand and spins them around toward the bed. “There, get comfy, I’ll be really quick.”

He is very quick. He’s as quick as a slightly uncoordinated human man can be while brushing his teeth, splashing some water on his face, and making use of the toilet. He’s fairly certain some making out is on the cards and he really doesn’t want to waste a second of it.

Jehan is texting someone, when Courfeyrac gets back. They’re sitting up in bed, duvet pulled over their knees, and they smile devastatingly, when Courfeyrac says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jehan echoes. “Hang on, I’m just saying good morning to R.” They tap out another couple of messages, grin at whatever Grantaire has said back, then drop the phone on the carpet by the bed. “Okay, come here.”

Courfeyrac does. He crawls across the duvet, expectant lips first, and gets his first proper kiss of the day.

Jehan doesn’t hold back. They slide their hands up into Courfeyrac’s hair and cup his skull with their long fingers, holding him still and kissing him until Courfeyrac is struggling to breathe.

“There,” Jehan says, looking smugly happy. “That’s better.”

“It _is_ ,” Courfeyrac agrees, dazed. He pushes on Jehan’s shoulder, just testing it out, and can’t help feeling amazed when Jehan lies back immediately, pulling Courfeyrac down with them.

It turns out that kissing while horizontal is a completely different experience. Jehan _squirms_. Squirm isn’t a sexy word, Courfeyrac wishes he could think of a sexy word: writhes, that’s better. Jehan is writhing under him, making sure that there are hardly any places where they’re not touching, while they kiss.

Courfeyrac really was just hoping for makeouts, but, “You know how you said you wanted to have sex with me?” he asks, more or less panting the words out into Jehan’s mouth.

Jehan groans. They’re noticeably hard against Courfeyrac’s stomach and if anything was going to scare Courfeyrac off, it would probably be that, but instead he thinks it’s ridiculously hot. 

“Not until you want to,” Jehan says, even though it sounds like agony to say it. “I can wait.”

Courfeyrac rolls his hips against Jehan’s, letting Jehan feel how turned on he is. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Fuck,” Jehan swears softly. “Are you sure? If you’re sure then, shit, _please_.”

Courfeyrac kisses them hard, slides his tongue against Jehan’s, while he strips off his t-shirt. They only have to break apart for a second, so Courfeyrac can throw his t-shirt far away, but it still feels like much too long.

“Oh wow,” Jehan murmurs, and runs their hands over Courfeyrac’s chest. Courfeyrac has an okay chest; he likes his chest hair, which is there but not _too much_. Jehan seems to like it too, if the way they twists their fingers through it is any indication.

Courfeyrac groans low in his throat, when Jehan’s thumb grazes his nipple and he starts to tug hopefully at Jehan’s pyjama top. “Can I?” he asks. “Fair’s fair.”

“Yes,” Jehan says, but it’s a nervous sort of _yes_ , not a sexy one.

“Or not,” Courfeyrac says, dropping his hands. “You can keep it on, I don’t mind.”

Jehan closes their eyes for a moment. “No, it’s okay,” they say. “Just, I don’t…”

Courfeyrac kisses Jehan’s cheek. “I really don’t mind, if you want to keep it on.”

Jehan shakes their head, expression resolving into something defiant and stubborn. They sit up a little and pull their top off, hands on the bottom hem the way Courfeyrac’s ex-girlfriends have tended to strip.

“You’re gorgeous,” Courfeyrac says, staring at Jehan’s surprisingly well-defined arms and the way their waist tapers off into solid hips. 

A blush springs into life in the middle of Jehan’s chest and floods up. “Really?” they ask, smiling and ducking their head. 

“Mmhmm. Can I?” Courfeyrac reaches out one hand and settles it on Jehan’s hip. He waits for Jehan to nod, before he strokes across Jehan’s chest with the other hand. Jehan shivers more when Courfeyrac touches their chest and less when he brushes a nipple, which is interesting and the exact opposite to how Courfeyrac works.

Fascinated, Courfeyrac replaces his hand with his mouth, exploring Jehan’s smooth skin, then moving onto their collarbones, their shoulders, their arms. The skin under Jehan’s arms is almost as smooth as their chest, just the faintest hint of stubble coming in. Courfeyrac rubs his nose across it until Jehan’s laughs.

“Having fun?” Jehan asks. Somehow, without Courfeyrac noticing, he’s wound up between Jehan’s sprawled legs.

He pushes up onto his hands and looks down at Jehan, completely helpless to do anything but smile at what he sees.

Jehan looks gorgeous, sprawled out on the bed, lying with their hair fanned out all around them. Courfeyrac doesn’t have any choice but to settle back down over them, pressing his face into Jehan’s neck and kissing all the skin he finds there.

“Courf,” Jehan says, stroking their hands over Courfeyrac’s shoulders, down the line of his back. “Hey, Courf.”

Courfeyrac lifts his head. He stares down at Jehan. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

Jehan laughs, their cheeks pinking up beautifully. “Shh, you,” they say. They touch Courfeyrac’s chin, making him look them in the eyes. “Do you like being on top best?”

Courfeyrac’s first instinct is to say yes - he’s always been with traditional ladies who wanted a gentleman and he’s always been happy to make them happy, so being on top is what he knows. “I… maybe not?”

Jehan grins. “No, I didn’t think so,” they say. They curl a leg around Courfeyrac’s hip and a hand around Courfeyrac’s shoulder and then Courfeyrac is on his back, Jehan on top of him.

All the air goes out of his lungs. He thought he was hard before but suddenly he’s _hard_. Jehan feels fantastic on top of him, heavy and solid and smiling wickedly.

“Better?” Jehan asks.

Courfeyrac blinks. “Better,” he agrees, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

Jehan kisses him. It’s deep and slick and dirty. Courfeyrac grabs their shoulders and kisses back hard, sucking Jehan’s tongue into his mouth again and again until they’re both panting and straining against each other.

“What do you want?” Jehan asks, between kisses. 

“Anything,” Courfeyrac says, touching the bare skin at Jehan’s waist. There’s a dimple right above Jehan’s arse and the skin there is smooth and downy soft. “You.”

Jehan runs a hand down over Courfeyrac’s belly and slips their fingers just inside the waistband of Courfeyrac’s boxers. “Can I?” they ask.

“Definitely, totally, completely,” Courfeyrac says, babbling because he’s a little scared Jehan will stop. 

Jehan doesn’t stop. They push Courfeyrac’s boxers down and wrap their hand around Courfeyrac’s desperate erection, playing gently with the slide of his foreskin. 

Courfeyrac groans, grabbing for Jehan’s wrist and holding on.

“Do you like that?” Jehan asks, squeezing. “Or would you like my mouth?”

Courfeyrac’s brain makes the scratchy record sound for a while. “That’s… not a fair question,” he manages to get out. “How could I ever choose?”

“Well, I like giving blowjobs,” Jehan says, casually like that’s not devastating. They start to slide down Courfeyrac’s body, but stop to suck kisses on his ribs for a while.

Courfeyrac is so turned on. Everything is happening so quickly and he’s so overwhelmed and desperate and turned on. 

“Jehan,” he begs. “ _Please_.”

Jehan spends a few minutes more on sucking kisses, until they can pull back and smile down at Courfeyrac’s red-bruised skin. “I gave you a love bite,” they say happily. “Now blowjobs.”

Courfeyrac tips his head back and lets his legs fall open. “Now blowjobs,” he agrees. “Please.”

“Shh,” Jehan says, sliding Courfeyrac’s boxers the rest of the way down his legs and off. “You don’t need to keep asking.” They take the head of Courfeyrac’s cock into their mouth, sucking lightly and humming a little, like it’s fun.

This isn’t Courfeyrac’s first blowjob, it isn’t even his first from someone who really seems to enjoy it, but it still makes the top of his head feel like it’s going to explode right off. He feels warm all over, little tingles of sex and happiness running through his skin.

“Where can I touch you?” he asks, because he really, really needs to.

Jehan reaches for him and takes his hands, guiding them up to rest on their head. They move back just far enough to say, “Don’t pull,” then start sucking kisses down the shaft.

Courfeyrac curls his hands around the back of Jehan’s head, taking great care not to pull any of Jehan’s silky-soft hair.

Jehan isn’t being careful with their teeth, which really isn’t something Courfeyrac would have thought he’d like, but he really, really does. He clutches at Jehan’s head and presses his toes into their sides and tries not to come immediately.

Jehan is licking around the root of his cock now, sucking kisses on the fragile skin above his balls, and now would be a really inappropriate time to declare undying love, but that doesn’t mean Courfeyrac doesn’t want to.

“You’re so great, that feels so great,” he babbles instead. “Can I do you, after? Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Maybe,” Jehan says in between kisses. “Can I eat you out?”

Courfeyrac has no idea, he’s never done that before, but he’s liked everything else and he really likes Jehan’s mouth so, “Yes, yes, whatever you want, fuck.”

So Jehan keeps going down, past his balls and all the way down, using their wet tongue and lovely mouth on Courfeyrac, until he’s a shaking, gasping, begging mess of a human.

It’s _amazing_.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, tossing his head from side to side on the pillow. “How do I… I don’t know how to…”

Jehan sits up. Their lips are puffy and pink and their hair's a mess. “Do you want to come?” they ask, smile turning playful.

Courfeyrac nods hard. He can’t speak, all of a sudden.

Jehan pushes themself up the bed, tangling their hands together with Courfeyrac’s and sliding them up against the pillow, above Courfeyrac’s head. Courfeyrac arches up against them, breathless. 

“Keep your hands there,” Jehan whispers in his ear. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes,” Courfeyrac promises, even though he has no idea, he’s never tried before. 

“Hmm,” Jehan says and transfers their hold on Courfeyrac’s wrists, so their thumb is tucked around one wrist and their fingers around the other. It’s more a suggestion than a real grip, but it’s still enough to remind Courfeyrac not to move.

“Good,” Jehan murmurs. They kiss Courfeyrac’s cheek then use their free hand to curl around Courfeyrac’s dick.

“Please don’t judge me for this,” Courfeyrac says and arches up, up, up, hands pinned to the pillows, arms stretched. He thrusts helplessly into Jehan’s fist, moaning. He comes so hard he feels every muscle in his body lock then turn to jelly and he collapses back into bed, gasping, every part of him twitching.

Jehan pulls him into their arms and holds him tight, murmuring gently into his hair. “There, there, there,” they whisper. “There, darling, was that good?”

“God,” Courfeyrac groans shakily. He manages to make one arm work enough to wrap it around Jehan’s waist and cling to them, but that’s about all the energy he has left.

Eventually, he comes back to himself enough to realise that he’s giggling, little aftershocks tickling through his groin and making him thankful that Jehan’s hand is still cupping his softening cock.

“Fuck, wow,” Courfeyrac says with feeling. He rolls onto his back and grins up at Jehan. “So that was _great_?”

Jehan’s eyes are dark and they’re watching Courfeyrac with such fondness that Courfeyrac would be overwhelmed now, if he wasn’t already.

“I’m going to rinse my mouth out, okay,” they say, “then I will be back, and I’m going to kiss you really hard.”

They move to sit up, but Courfeyrac catches their wrist. “Why do you have to go?” he asks. He can hear himself whining, but he just had a lovely orgasm; he doesn’t want his lovely orgasm-giver to go anywhere.

Jehan kisses their fingers then presses them to Courfeyrac’s forehead. “I’ll be _right back_ ,” they promise and carefully slip away from Courfeyrac’s grip.

Left alone on the bed, Courfeyrac lets himself drift, floating on a haze of comfort and satisfaction. Maybe he should be having some sort of sexuality crisis, but he’s really not. He hates introspection; he’s much happier just feeling what he’s feeling and going with the flow.

Jehan comes back with fresh breath and a warm flannel, which they use to clean Courfeyrac’s sticky skin for him.

“Mm, thank you,” Courfeyrac says, stretching. He reaches up and catches Jehan’s hand, lacing their fingers together and tugging them closer. “You promised me kisses.”

“I did,” Jehan agrees. They drop the flannel onto the bedside table and lie back down on the bed, fitting themselves into Courfeyrac’s waiting arms.

Courfeyrac feels lazy, letting his tongue curl around Jehan’s and his hands explore Jehan’s back.

“You said I could blow you,” Courfeyrac says. He’s probably too sleepy to make it any good, but he’s definitely game to try.

Jehan kisses him again. “I said maybe,” they say. “Do you mind waiting? I don’t want to let go of you.”

Courfeyrac definitely doesn’t object to that. He curls deeper into Jehan’s arms and drops his hand down to Jehan’s tiny dinosaur-covered shorts. What he finds inside definitely _isn’t_ tiny. 

This isn’t the first penis he’s touched - there was a thing with Marius and a rash that he doesn’t like to think about - but it’s the first he’s touched with _intention_.

Jehan bites their lip until it turns white, watching Courfeyrac reach into their shorts and pull out their cock. 

“I really like your dick,” Courfeyrac says, after considering it for a while. “It’s really pretty.”

“Thanks,” Jehan says. They let out a low breath and rock up into Courfeyrac’s hand. “Sometimes it feels weird that I have one but not, mmm, not today.”

“No?” Courfeyrac asks. Experimentally, he rubs his thumb over the head. “I’m glad.”

Jehan hisses. “Softer, softer please.”

“Sorry,” Courfeyrac says. “I’ll learn.” He’s good at learning, there’s very little he can’t master, when he puts his mind to it. Right now, he starts by lightening his touch until he’s just running his fingertips and the edge of his thumb nail up and down Jehan’s cock.

Jehan seems to like it a _lot_. Their fingers are wrapped around Courfeyrac’s wrist, hard enough to bruise, fingernails digging in.

“Kisses,” Courfeyrac decides and presses his mouth to Jehan’s slack lips, taking control of the kiss and kissing and kissing them, while Jehan shakes and moans and finally comes all over Courfeyrac’s fingers.

Honestly, Courfeyrac feels _very_ smug.

“Marks out of ten?” he asks, lips pressed to Jehan’s ear.

Jehan laughs. “Like you ever get anything less than one-hundred percent,” they mumble, slurring sleepily. They reach out for Courfeyrac and the two of them wrap around each other, the duvet pulled up and over their heads so they’re in a little cocoon of their own.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Courfeyrac asks after they’ve been snoozing quietly for a while. Jehan’s hair is in his mouth, but he couldn’t care less. 

“Not really.” Jehan yawns and tucks their hand between Courfeyrac’s back and the mattress. “Maybe some lectures. Who knows?”

“Oooh, am I a bad influence on you?” Courfeyrac asks, delighted.

Jehan laughs. “Darling, you have a weird picture of me.”

“Nonsense, you’re an angel.” Courfeyrac kisses them, then ducks back in and licks their nose, just to make them laugh.

“Seriously though,” Jehan says, “if you need to leave, I’d understand.”

Instinctively, Courfeyrac hugs them tighter. “Why would I need to leave?”

Jehan shoves the duvet back just far enough that they can actually see each other. “You might want some space,” they say, “maybe think about whether this is what you really want?”

“It is.” Courfeyrac pushes up fast onto his elbow so he can look down at Jehan. “It is. I want this, I want you.”

Jehan smiles. “But _what_ do you want from me? Do you just want sex or, uh.” They trail off, shrugging.

It would be so easy for Courfeyrac to grab them and declare endless devotion, but maybe that’s _too_ easy. Courfeyrac knows he has a reputation for effusiveness and hyperbole. This is too important to turn into dramatics. 

He takes a deep breath. “I’d like to date you,” he says. “I’d like to tell people we’re together and call you my… my Jehan.” He looks down, suddenly nervous. “Does that match up at all with what you want?”

“It does,” Jehan says softly. “It matches up pretty exactly, actually.”

“Yay,” Courfeyrac says and that’s about the limit to how long he can be serious, because he has to knock Jehan back into the pillows and kiss them, now. Those fifty seconds without touching were horrible.

“Wait,” he says, as something occurs to him. He pulls back and looks down at Jehan. “Is Grantaire going to give me the shovel talk?”

“Almost definitely,” Jehan says, not sounding bothered. “I did it to Enjolras, so it’s only fair.”

“You _did_?” Courfeyrac asks. “Oh my god, how did that go?”

“Interestingly,” Jehan says, after a thoughtful pause. “Now he can do it to me, so that’s a nice balance to things.”

Courfeyrac lies back down, and curls up against Jehan’s side. He’s sleepy again. “Maybe Ferre will do it.” he says. He noses at Jehan’s shoulder. “Maybe they both will.”

“I don’t mind,” says Jehan, putting their arm around Courfeyrac’s back. “They can if they want.”

“My hero,” Courfeyrac says and kisses his neck.

***

“Okay, no, but hippos are terrifying,” says Courfeyrac, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up onto the rungs of Combeferre’s stool. “Remember that documentary we saw?”

“Mostly I remember you crying because the baby hippo couldn’t find its mother,” Combeferre says.

Courfeyrac shrugs. He did do that; he’s not ashamed.

“Oh no,” says Marius, leaning forward so far that he nearly tips himself off Cosette’s lap. “Was it okay?”

Courfeyrac has a feeling it wasn’t; he can’t really remember. “Totally fine,” he says with confidence. “We only watch happy nature programmes.”

“Lies,” laughs Grantaire. His chair is shoved up close to Enjolras’s, and he’s seemingly oblivious to the drinking going on around him, but Courfeyrac passed behind them earlier, and he knows their fingers are tightly entwined below the level of the table. “Remember that one with the meerkats?”

“We don’t talk about that,” Enjolras says stiffly. He smiles when everyone laughs at him, which makes Courfeyrac smile. Grantaire is so good for him.

The door that leads outside opens, blowing cold air into the bar, and Jehan hurries inside, shaking rain from their umbrella.

“Ugh,” they say with feeling. “It’s horrible out there.” Their bright red skirt and gold tights don’t attract even one second glance. There’s a reason the Corinth has become everyone’s favourite bar.

“You’re late,” Courfeyrac calls, even though Jehan texted him to say they would be and kept texting him the whole bus ride here. He doesn’t want Jehan to think that he didn’t miss them.

“And I’m wet,” Jehan says. They catch Courfeyrac’s eye and wink very obviously. Courfeyrac snorts. “Did you get me a drink?”

“As promised,” Courfeyrac says. “Alas there were no chairs, though.”

That’s very obviously a lie. All the chairs around their table are filled with their friends, but there are plenty of others free around the rest of the bar. Jehan doesn’t mention that, just tucks themself into the space between Courfeyrac’s hip and the arm of his chair, almost but not quite sitting on his lap.

Courfeyrac slides an arm around behind their back and leans in for a kiss.

“No PDAs,” Eponine says and throws some peanuts at them. 

Jehan flips her off with a smile and leans forward to grab their drink from the table, instead. They asked Courfeyrac to get them lemonade, which he did, to go with his own Coke. Grantaire has been glaring on and off since he noticed, but Courfeyrac is getting excellent at ignoring that.

“How was your seminar?” Courfeyrac asks, when Jehan settles back against him. Jehan had to read their poetry to the class today, and practiced at Courfeyrac for most of the night, too nervous to sleep.

“It was okay,” Jehan says. They smile. “I mean, they liked the poetry, I just, _god_ , public speaking is the worst.”

Courfeyrac doesn’t comment on that. He’s going to be a lawyer; he loves talking in public. “Of course they liked it. It’s about my penis.”

Jehan laughs and elbows him. “It is _not_.”

“It is,” Grantaire says, at the same time that Combeferre groans and Enjolras says, “Oh god, is it?”

“No,” protests poor Jehan. “It’s about - ” The wave a hand. “Okay, it’s possibly a little about sex, but it’s about more than that. It’s about new beginnings and creation and, and. Ugh, shut up. I didn’t write a sex poem for my seminar. My tutor’s head would have exploded.”

Courfeyrac leans his head on Jehan’s shoulder. “It’s a nice poem,” he says. He doesn’t understand it, and he’s pretty sure it _is_ about his penis, but he likes it. 

Jehan leans their cheek against the top of Courfeyrac’s head. “It’s a love poem,” they say softly, for Courfeyrac’s ears only.

They haven’t said the words to each other yet, but if Courfeyrac’s anything to go by, they have accidentally told everyone else. “I know,” he says, and pulls Jehan in for another kiss. He can risk Eponine’s wrath for this. Loving Jehan makes him brave.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 I hope you enjoyed it! Comments and kudos are always gratefully received.


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